


Chase the Morning

by Araceil



Category: Final Fantasy XV, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Friendship, Goblet of Fire AU, M/M, Rebirth/Reincarnation, Romance, Umbra is a good dog, tags to be added as required
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-16 23:46:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16505072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Araceil/pseuds/Araceil
Summary: Noct was dead, and they were dying. Umbra sent them to the side of their King reborn. Only, he doesn't remember them, or Eos. But once a King of Light, always a King of Light. Even if Harry Potter doesn't know it, they'll remember for him.





	1. Chapter 1

Noct was dead, and they were dying.

Prompto could feel it with every breath he took, every step he took; a cold seeping deep into his too heavy bones, the darkness that clung to the edges of his vision even with the painful glare of a new dawn, the yawning _aching_ chasm within him where his bestfriend used to be. He could see it in Iggy's bowed head, his shaking shoulders and trembling hands, the pallor of his skin, scars standing out silver and red in the light of day, his daggers discarded on the floor, unneeded, unable to be returned to the crystalline Armiger they once called home. See it in Gladio, the hang of his head, the dullness of his eyes, his breath rattling in his lungs, and the stillness of his hands. A river shivering on its last trickle. A mountain broken and silent.

They were dying. All of them. Dying with the first break of dawn in ten years, like they themselves were the daemons they fought so zealously before, being burned away by a light so foreign they couldn't bear its touch anymore.

This was not _their_ light. Was not the promise of what they clung to for ten years, was not the light they breathed into themselves and bound to their very souls.

He huffed a laugh, half tears, half pain.

How could Cor live like this, Prompto wondered, his heart a gaping void of pain. The Marshal had sworn himself to the light of King Mor, and lost him. Sworn himself to King Regis, and lost him. Sworn himself to Noctis....  
  
How did he keep going, Prompto wondered with a numb mixture of pity, horror, and twisted admiration. How did he keep going with this pain? Was he truly as immortal as the stories said? Or was he truly that strong in both heart and mind?

The sun hurt his eyes.

He stared at it, relishing the pain, the ache. They had fought so hard for this. To bring the dawn. They'd spent ten years chasing this dawn, waiting for this morning, planning for it. They'd known, of course they had. How could they not? Ardyn told them the very day that Noct went into the crystal what his fate would be, and then spent the next ten years tormenting them with that knowledge. Taunting them, accusing them, mocking them. They knew Noctis was the King of Light, and that eventually he would have to lay down his life to bring the dawn, they had _known_ that. The life of Royalty was Sacrifice.

He thought he was prepared.

He was wrong.

The pain of his eyes facing a light they were so unaccustomed to was preferable to the cold ache inside of himself where Noct's light once was.

The sky was so blue.

Like his eyes had been.

“So.... this is it, huh,” he heard himself saying out-loud in the too silent courtyard.

“Indeed,” Ignis agreed, his voice rough, and low as he leaned back and sat heavily upon the stone steps of the Citadel, just below him. The sound of his boots scraping the stone almost too loud in the stillness, in the silence.

Gladio breathed deep, and then sighed, somehow slumping further, before he looked up, and straightened his shoulders. A mountain broken, but not yet shattered as he looked up at the rising sun with something like defiance, “Enjoy the sunrise, boys. I don't think we'll see another one to be honest,” he observed with a deep breath as he closed his eyes, and took in the light.

“Yeah. No kidding,” Prompto agreed softly, following suit as he closed his wet and aching eyes, turning his face towards the sun, feeling the heat of it bleed into his skin, and felt the stillness fill him along with it.

He didn't know how long they sat there, breathing it in, soaking it in.

Part of him felt like he was drowning somewhere in Niflheim. Heavy, cold, and dark even as he felt the newborn sun on his skin. The sun that Noct fought and died to bring back, his last gift to them, his final sacrifice.

A tiny part of him hated it.

A tiny part of him said they didn't do enough. Didn't try hard enough.

A tiny part of him said they should have saved Noct and damn the world.

A larger one regretted.... regretted not telling him how he really felt.

The largest wanted to see him again.

Something touched his leg, and he couldn't even find it in himself to jump or reach for his gun as he opened his eyes and looked down to see what creature had survived.

Umbra peered up at him with intelligent golden eyes.

“Hey boy. What are you doing here?” he asked softly, kneeling down to rub the dog's head. When Lunafreya had died, Pryna had passed with her. He had... always assumed the same would happen with Noct and Umbra. The dogs seemed so intertwined with the both of them despite being Messengers of the Gods. If it weren't for the coldness inside of him, he might have taken the messenger's appearance at his side as a sign that Noct still lived. If he didn't feel the absence of his bestfriend's light within him, and know that he was dead, dead, _dead_.

Umbra wuffed and pawed at his leg, licking his nose briefly before attempting to do the same to Prompto's chin.

Who was going to take care of Umbra.... now that both Noct and Luna were gone?

He would have done it in a heartbeat, but he didn't have many of those left. So, he gave what comfort he could to the animal who would soon be on his own, without familiar faces, or friends, without a kind hand, or a treat, or a book to deliver between estranged lovers. Without a friend to return to. In a dead world where food was scarce, and a dog of Umbra's size would feed a family for at least a few days.

“You stay safe, you hear?” he told the dog, gently grasping his face and peering deep into his eyes.

“Yeah. People get mean when they're hungry. Stay out of sight, or they might try to put you on the menu,” Gladio warned, the heavy thunk of his boots approaching before he knelt and added his own hand to the dog, stroking gently down the canine's back.

“Perhaps the Marshal will care for him, in our absence,” Ignis offered quietly as he joined them, hand outstretched towards the dog who lapped at his fingertips in familiarity.

Umbra's eyes glowed, and the floor dropped out from beneath them.

 

* * *

 

_T h e   K i n g   o f   L i g h t   r e b o r n ,   f o r g e d   a n e w   a r e   f r i e n d s h i p ' s   b o n d ._

 

_F i n d   h i m   t h e y   s h a l l ,   t h e   K n i g h t s   o n c e   a g a i n ._

 

_T h e y   c h a s e   t h e   m o r n i n g ' s   l i g h t ._

 

* * *

 

“G-Gentiana?” Ignis' voice croaked as consciousness slowly returned to them.

Prompto ached all over, it.... it felt like he had just been rescued at Zegnautus Keep. His whole body felt bruised, wrung out, and exhausted. It was.... he almost felt too hot for his skin as he panted for breath and slowly levered himself upright out of the – the grass?

He wished he could snap completely to his senses like they did in stories and games, but everything spun and dipped around him, that darkness around his vision wavered like a heat-haze growing brighter and dimmer every other second as he tried to get his bearings. Yes, it was grass. Beautiful, lush green grass, the likes of which he hadn't seen since they were running across the plains of Duscae ten years ago.

Now, much of the world was blackened. The plants unable to support life without sunlight to photosynthesise. Patches of land around Lestallum were less effected, Holly and Cindy had worked hard on creating UV lamps around the city that the refugees tended – after the hunters did their sweep to make sure nothing was lurking amidst the plants. Prompto had travelled all of Lucis on chocobo-back looking for survivors. He had seen more of the world in those ten years than he did while travelling with Noct, and all of it was blackened, and dead. The Starscourge was a terrible plague, yes, it killed and stole many lives.

But the thing that killed the most people was simply hunger.

There hadn't been enough food for all the mouths they needed to feed, people needed to move to other outposts, needed to farm more food, needed to provide power. Lestallum couldn't power the world, though they did try. And in the end, how many times had Prompto responded to a distress call from an Outpost and arrived too late? Too many.

Galdin Quay would forever be his biggest regret.

He had been at Meldacio, practically the otherside of the country, but both Dino and Coctura had been there. They had just gotten married, they were talking about children, naming them. Coctura wanted to call their son Navyth, after her missing Uncle. Dino wanted to name their daughter Pearl. They had been so happy. And then a tidal storm swept in, and knocked the power out.

Prompto raced the wind itself, pushed his chocobo to the point of exhaustion, and arrived to see the blackened restaurant, his heart in his throat, and knew he had to look, had to check. He raced past nests of mind-flayers, under the swings of iron giants and red giants, leapt over tonberries, and skidded to a stop within the shattered tables and scattered chairs of the restaurant. His eyes locked on the empty piles of clothing abandoned and sodden on the floor.

Coctura's salt-stained chef blouse, and scarf.

Dino's snazzy shirt and silk tie that he somehow kept clean despite the years.

His chocobo hadn't waited for him to regain his senses before it was bolting out the back of the restaurant and leaping directly into the water to avoid the daemons still there. The splash of cold salt-water to his face woke him up, jarred him from his horror, and brought him back to the then and there. He grabbed the reigns and steered his bird to the haven just down the beach, and only once they were there, and they were safe, did he collapse, and cry. Bitter, furious, and heartbroken. He had wanted to tell Coctura that he found Nayvth, alive, and well, fishing for the survivors up at the Vesperpool. He was the only reason Meldacio didn't starve like so many other outposts. No one could sustainably fish for a town better than him, or harvest water-edibles that many didn't even know existed.

But even the plant-life at the Vesperpool had not survived the years of darkness without trouble.

Plant-life that now looked half-dead and drab by comparison to the lush emerald green grass, cool and moist, beneath his fingers as he stared down at a _ladybug_ clinging stubbornly to a stem.

He hadn't seen one of those in.... in years.

He looked up, flinching from the bright early morning sunlight, and goggled at a world turned _green_ and _alive_ around him.

Trees taller than alpha Anaks towered over them, thick boughs of unknown wood flush with greenery, the sound of bird-song, so alien it took him a moment to even recognise it as he stared around himself at the bushes, and the _flowers_ , at the milling and buzzing insects he could see in the morning sunlight overhead, a distant butterfly on a pink bloom, and the sight of Gladio sat cross-legged, bewildered, and all of fourteen, not a scar on his face, nor a whisker on his chin.

Prompto blinked, and then reached up to rub his eyes.

His hand was tiny.

What.

He twisted in place to see Iggy, Iggy who had almost always been over six foot, broad-shouldered, deceptively strong, and perfectly coif'ed, fourteen, messy haired, short and scrawny, bewildered as he gingerly felt around himself like he.... like he had when he first lost his eyes, despite his face being clear of the silvery magic scars the Ring gave him.

“What.... happ _ened_?” Prompto heard a voice, a horrifyingly familiar voice, just on that cusp, still breaking with puberty. And felt his face beginning to burn in familiar mortification. He had waited until _after_ he stopped doing that before talking to Noct!

The others were too kind to comment as Ignis sat back on his shins, and Gladio gestured helplessly, “Umbra. Last I saw was his eyes glowing, and then it – felt like we fell.”

Ignis nodded, “Indeed. And Gentiana. I heard her voice.”

Prompto paused in his cautious exploration of his body, and tilted his head, realising for the first time that..... he didn't feel empty anymore. The cold that ached deep within his bones was gone. He could breathe without feeling as though he were drowning, as though the very air itself were made of ice.

“He's alive,” he breathed.

There was a moment of silence, and then –

“He is,” Gladio realised, hand pressed over his heart in something like wonder.

Ignis staggered to his feet, eyes clamped shut, “We need to find him,” the retainer declared harshly.

Gladio's arm snapped out and caught him by the back of his trousers, “Hold your chocobos there, Iggy,” he soothed, tugging him back down next to him. “Finding Noct goes without saying, but first, we need to sort ourselves out, and find out where we are. _Then_ we can go looking for His Royal Pain in the Ass, alright?”

Ignis looked muleish for all of a moment before he sighed in resignation and frustration, eventually nodding. Prompto wrinkled his nose, he _wanted_ to argue, but he was exhausted, filthy, and while his injuries seemed to have vanished the echo of them ached fiercely. He would be of no use to Noct if he collapsed from exhaustion as soon as they found him, any of them.

“Alright, good plan,” he agreed before flopping back on the grass, fighting off the unease he felt at the unfamiliar texture, at the vulnerable position he had put himself into, determined to enjoy just.... relaxing in the grass out in the sun. Something he hadn't done since they left the Crown City over a decade ago. How many years had they imagined this? Discussed picnics in Duscae once they brought the dawn and had Noct at their side? Joked about retirement where they set up shop at Wiz's, Iggy opening his own restaurant while Prompto and Noct ran the chocobo farm, and Gladio travelled with Sania furthering her scientific research, sending them dorky selfies and post-cards as he went. Cutting out Sania's science articles in the paper and framing them to embarrass the pair when they finally returned. Sending snarky messages to both Coctura at the Pearl, and Weskham at Maahgo challenging them to cook-offs, the smell of delicious meat, the soft kweh'ing of chocobos.... Noct's hand in his....  
  
“I could eat a behemoth,” he sighed, closing his eyes and shaking off the thoughts of... well, being anything other than Noct's bestfriend.

“Zuu,” Gladio volunteered, “And all the eggs.”

Ignis made a noise of mixed amusement, annoyance, and disbelief all rolled into one making Prompto grin and roll over onto his front, opening his eyes, “Fluffy chiffon cake with ulwaat berry coulis,” he crooned teasingly, his grin widening at the Look Ignis gave him, well aware he was being teased even with his eyes shut.

“If you're quite done, perhaps we should make a move, and see about foraging something to eat along the way, yes?” Ignis suggested archly, making Prompto laugh and push himself up.

“I'll follow you to the ends of Eos as long as you promise to cook,” the sniper vowed.

“I believe that's called 'cupboard love',” Ignis pointed out as he took the outstretched hand the blond offered, getting to his feet.

“I'd say it's more common sense,” Gladio quipped as he too got to his feet, brushing grass from the black fabric.

“Is it indeed?” Ignis asked blandly.

“Ifrit himself would use ice magic to get a taste of your cooking, Iggy,” Prompto pointed out with a laugh as he took the retainer's hand and began to lead him through the trees, Gladio dodging around them to take the lead as usual in the wilderness.

Ten years of darkness, of stillness, and daemons in the shadows. It was _surreal_ to wander through thick lush greenery now, to smell water and _life_ instead of starscourge and dust. The birds continued to sing around them as they stumbled their way down a beast path that cut through the undergrowth between the trees. Thickets of brambles bearing tiny white flowers, clumps of livid magenta coloured flowers, daisies, even carpets of blue-bells visible between the trees around them. It.... was like a scene from heaven, from his deepest dreams, and he tightened his hand on Iggy's out of reflex, even though his wasn't the hand he wanted to hold.

It must have been summer, or late spring, because it was hot, despite travelling under the shadows of the trees. Pretty soon, Gladio had stripped out of his Glaive jacket, tying it around his waist, and Prompto was considering doing the same but kind of stuck on the fact that.... They had been _thirty_ before this. And now they were _fourteen_. He knew it was fourteen because he hadn't yet lost that last little bit of chub yet, because he was slimmer, much slimmer, but not enough yet, and still, his voice was breaking. He couldn't talk to Noct and have his voice crack in the middle of a sentence, he would die of sheer embarrassment. And yet....

They were fourteen, wearing clothes that had fit them like gloves at thirty – or as close as Gladio could get seeing as he strained the fastenings of his jacket to some nigh obscene levels. By all rights, they should have been _swimming_ in their uniforms. _Especially_ Gladio who had yet to obtain the minimum pectoral girth of even his twenty-year old self despite looking like a seventeen year old while being fourteen. And yet their uniforms fit perfectly, even Gladio's which hadn't before their jump.

“What.... is _that_?” the Shield demanded as they drew to a halt, his eyes turned to their right as they broke out from the forest and stood at the edge of what was clearly cultivated farmland, but on a massive scale unlike anything any of them had ever seen. And stood not even thirty feet away to their right, was a weird looking monster.

Prompto turned his head to the side and squinted, “Looks a bit like a Garula,” he decided, eyeing the large black and white sides, and large flat nose. Definitely a herbivore, with a long fleshy tail tipped in hair. Like a coeurl, weird.

“That's one messed up Garula then,” Gladio grunted before rubbing his chin consideringly, “Think it tastes the same?” he asked thoughtfully.

“Well,” Ignis said, “There's only one way to find out,” he pointed out even as his hand filled with lightning.

Whatever the beast was, it never stood a chance.

 

* * *

 

When the big board lit up like a firework display at the Ministry of Magic, announcing an explosion of magical activity in a muggle location, newbie Auror Nymphadora Tonks thought she was going to have a heart attack as she toppled clean out of her seat. She had only just finished her probationary period after training and had been assigned the board as a milk run, nothing was ever supposed to happen while manning the board. Accidental Magic incidents were all forwarded to the board in the Underage Magic department, while this one was for Auror use only.

The problem now was that it was going _crazy_.

Location: Lark Hill, Salisbury.

Spitting distance from Stonehenge, and the lesser known Woodhenge. Not to mention a very large muggle military base too. The incident was practically occurring on their back garden, and the last thing the Ministry wanted was to deal with Military cover-ups!

With that forefront in her mind as she made her report and sounded the alert, the Auror team that assembled for dispatch came in quick and hard with their wands drawn and ready for action.

“Three different magical signatures have been detected! Shield charms and elemental magic in use. Muggle presence unknown!” she reported as her post was taken over by another auror allowing her to grab her own robe and join her colleagues. As the responding Auror, despite being only a junior, she would be the one to lead them to the incident. “Muggleworthy excuse office has been informed, and an obliviation team is mustering! No presence of Dark Magic has been recorded, but be wary! Portkey will activate on my mark!” she shouted as she charmed the length of rope that was now in the hands of her colleagues, gripping it tightly in her own clammy, slightly shaking hand.

“Three, two, one, MARK!”

The Portkey hooked into her naval and jerked her into the air, spinning them to their destination. She hated portkeys, it was only a _lot_ of practice that stopped her from falling on her face the second she landed, feet hitting grass, sunlight near blinding her, and the smell of smoke and roasting meat filling her nostrils.

Her heart immediately sank at the thought they might have been too late, that there was some poor soul being burned alive, and then paused on abject confusion when she got her bearings and looked up.

That was a whole _cow_ roasting over an open fire.

Around it, three teenagers in varying states of battered, bruised, and bloody, wearing some kind of black and silver uniform, looking just as confused and startled to see them as they were to see an _entire cow being spitroasted in the middle of the muggle countryside_.

They stared at each other in sheer bewilderment. Of all the things that awaited them on the otherside of that portkey, teenagers eating a _cow_ wasn't even on the _list!_

“Get on your knees!” Dawlish barked, bringing his wand up, and suddenly all the aurors were jarred into motion, fanning out to surround the boys as they jumped like scolded cats, abandoning their meal (A WHOLE COW), and moving themselves back to back defensively. “Drop your wands! Drop them!”

But when no wands were thrown down as commanded, Dawlish growled in frustration and threw a stunning charm at the three boys who moved, their empty hands rising.

A pearl coloured shield flashed up, the red spell splashing harmlessly across it in front of the tall blond with closed eyes. He was not holding a wand. Nor had he even opened his eyes.

Dawlish snarled and threw another, backed up by Smith and Andrews. The two other boys shifted, and two more shields burst into life in front of them to block the spells – all of them with their hands empty, without wands.

“ _Accio wand!_ ” Stubbs commanded, pulling on her wand as though it were a rope, but nothing came to her, and a moment later, disarming charms, banishing charms, even low level curses were being tested upon the pearlescent shields the boys had up. With all the magic impacting against them, they were more white than semi-transparent from the ripples.

This was getting them no where.

“Stop! All – oh for Merlin's sake,” Tonks muttered to herself. All they were doing was increasing the risk of the muggle military investigating the light-show they were putting on. If any muggle teenagers, or a local farmer noticed this racket.... “ _Soronus,_ AURORS STAND DOWN!” she roared, and, for good measure, strode out into the middle of the cross-fire.

Thankfully, it stopped.

She breathed a shaky sigh of relief, she had been slightly worried that Dawlish wouldn't bother, she pressed her lips together and channelled Old McGonagall at her most severe, her metamorphic talents adjusting her features to match that of the stern Transfiguration Professor at her most disapproving to further the impression.

“Boys,” she called sternly, drawing the majority of their attention away from the aurors around them. “I am Auror Tonks from the Ministry of Magic. Do you know why I am here?” she demanded harshly.

“No,” the brunet grunted belligerently.

“Not a clue,” the sunny blond chirped almost dismissively.

“Indeed not,” the dirty blond admitted gravely, his british accent so thick it _had_ to be fake.

“What's an auror?” Sunny asked curiously, craning his neck to peer over his shoulder at her as he was the one faced furthest away.

“Magical Law Enforcement,” Tonks explained flatly, watching as three sets of – well, two sets of eyes went wide, and one set of eye _brows_ went up. “Our sensors detected extensive use of elemental magic and shield charms in a restricted non-magical area. Do you boys have any idea how much trouble you're in? There's a muggle military base not even ten miles away from this location! Not to mention two major muggle tourist destinations! You could have been _seen_! Anyone with a camera could have seen and taken pictures of you! And to top it off, poaching – a – whole – _cow!_ ” she exclaimed, still finding it practically impossible to wrap her brain around that fact. Who kills and eats a _whole_ fucking cow?!

“That does indeed sound serious,” Closed-Eyes admitted solemnly as he slowly lowered his arms and dropped his shield, the other two reluctantly following suit, but none of them moved position and remained back to back with each other, “But I am afraid the context is somewhat lost on us. What is a muggle? That is a term I have never heard before.”

Her mouth dropped.

Magic users in their mid-teens who had never _heard_ of muggles?

She shared a look with her colleagues, all of them looking just as unnerved and confused by that declaration.

“If its any consolation, the beast wasn't dangerous, it barely put up a fight, and it died quick and painless,” the brunet offered 'helpfully'.

Were these boys muggleborn who had been snapped up before their Hogwarts letter got to them, and trained by some kind of rogue element? She didn't like this, and she could already see Dawlish's face darkening with disbelief – he wasn't buying this, but Tonks had been at Hogwarts with _Charlie Weasley_ , that guy could lie his way out of Azkaban with a straight face and nothing but his own cast iron bollocks in hand. She could tell when she was being lied to.

“Where are your parents?” she found herself demanding suspiciously.

“Unknown, likely dead,” Closed-Eyes announced flatly.

“Dead,” Brunet grunted.

“Dead,” Sunny announced with a concerning degree of intensity (and an undertone of satisfaction that made something uncomfortable turn over in Tonks' gut).

Fuck.

“Alright boys, this is how it's going to go,” she announced before Dawlish could open his mouth and ruin what progress she'd made with the three. They'd dropped their shields, they were answering questions, actually _talking_ , which was good. Thankfully Dawlish understood the need for a united front and snapped his mouth shut as she began speaking, gritting his teeth angrily. Die mad about it, Slytherin.

“You're going to come with us to the Ministry of Magic, we're going to check you over with a healer because, no offence, you look like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards. While that happens, we'll be checking your magical signature against our records to try and find your families.”

“My only remaining family is my sister, and you won't find her,” brunet interrupted with a grunt and a shrug, “There's no Amicitias' left. Hasn't been since the war.” War? War with Voldemort?

Closed-Eyes nodded, “My parents likely passed along with Gladio's, and had I any family left, they likely would not have made it out of the Second Burning.” She could taste the capitol letters on that comment, the hell had happened to these boys?

“Believe me, if I had family left, you wouldn't want them anywhere near,” Sunny stated with grim certainty. Potential Dark Family? If that were the case, how did he not know about muggles or the Laws against magic in public spaces?

“Either way, we need to check. Procedure. If nothing turns up, then you will become Wards of the Ministry of Magic, and be taken care of, likely enrolled into Hogwarts to teach you to control your magic, and _not_ to endanger the rest of our community by using it recklessly in public,” she added darkly.

“Is it really such a bad thing? I mean,” Sunny trailed off with a helpless gesture.

Merlin give her strength, “Yes. Yes it is. How – if the muggle population knew about magic users, the chances of their reaction becoming violent is far too high to be ignored. The last time they knew about us, people got burned at the stake.” Alarmed looks crossed the boys faces and she nodded, “That was before their technology developed to the point where they could erase cities with the push of a button. We would rather not be wiped out, if it's all the same to you. Now. Will you come peacefully?” she asked pointedly.

The boys glanced to each other, whispering quietly, shaking heads, nodding, and then looking over at her. “We're – there was another one of us. We still need to find him.”

Tonks nodded slowly, “If he uses magic in any unauthorised locations we should be able to find him. You can issue a description, name, and some other details and have it issued to the papers. Aurors handle missing persons cases as well, if you want to report it, you'll still have to come with us.”

“Can we bring the cow?” Brunet asked, glancing to where the animal was _still_ cooking.

Tonks closed her eyes in disbelief.

 


	2. Chapter 2

An entire country of magic users.

Prompto's mind boggled at the sheer possibilities of what could be _done_ with such power. And it wasn't like the elemental and teleporting powers that the Glaives were given, no, this was entirely more adaptable and usable and – they used flying paper aeroplanes as interdepartmental memos! People were using fireplaces to teleport from place to place and seemed to think it was no big thing. There was that woman who summoned a file from the otherside of the room, never once getting up from her desk. A young man who levitated a tea-tray as he went from cubicle to cubicle offering refreshments.

And that was just the tip of the iceberg. They were shown into a small room, clearly some manner of interview room but someone had gone to the effort of trying to make it look less intimidating by putting some comfy armchairs and a wooden coffee table in there. The door was too narrow for ANY of those objects to have ever gotten into the room!

Their uniforms were cleaned with a quick flick of wood, the tears mended and repaired, their bruises vanished under the swish-flick of the healer's bit of wood, and pieces of paper were conjured from nothing with another.

“So, Prompto Argentum, Ignis Scientia, and Gladiolus Amicitia,” the young woman with the stern face and bright red hair declared as she read through that piece of paper, making all three of them jerk because – they hadn't given their names yet. She smirked at them, and her expression softened. _Everything_ about her face softened, until she looked like a completely different person and – _hell_ her _hair colour_ just changed too! From fiery red into rose-petal pink! “No need to look so alarmed, a simple diagnostic charm gave me your names here,” she explained holding the paper up for them to see. “Name, age, height, weight, blood type, any injuries or illnesses, that's all. We'll have to wait for the heritage potion to find any family members. Now. What on _earth_ happened to you? These scans show signs of severe Dark Magic attacks, and some Light Magic that is, quite frankly, unlike anything I've ever seen before. This is Arcane Magick levels here. Is there anything we need to be worried about?” she asked seriously, staring at them beseechingly from over the sheet of paper.

The three exchanged looks, before they nodded to Iggy. He would be the best one to handle these kinds of things, awful with people he may have been, he was the Royal Retainer, and had better training in how to deal with Government officials than the King's Shield, who was his primary bodyguard, and Prompto, who was a civilian, Glaive status aside.

“No. Not anymore. Our... our missing member handled the incident, hence our need to find him. He was _badly injured_ ,” Ignis tried to explain, his voice breaking as he lied, as he tried to pretend otherwise, tried to believe that Noct was only injured, not _dead_. That he hadn't.... that the gaping void of silence and cold where his light once lived in their chests, supported and protected them, hadn't been snuffed out. He took a deep breath, “We are... sworn servants to the King of Light. I am not sure how we came to be here, but, we need to find our missing member. Please. You said we could issue a formal Missing Persons investigation here, how do we do that?” he asked urgently.

“We'll get on that in a bit,” the woman agreed, “But I need to know what happened to you boys. You say you're servants to the King of Light, that's a new one. You're going to have to explain.”

“What is there to explain? The fight is done!” Gladio growled, “But Noct is out there, and needs our help!”

“If we're to have even a basic idea of how to find 'Noct' we need to know what happened, the magics used, and just how you ended up on the outskirts of Salisbury,” the woman soothed, “Certain kinds of magical transportation can be tracked, and if they go wrong, we can calculate where that error occurred and track via that.”

“He, Ardyn knocked us out. Noct... Noct went to fight him alone and, Ardyn's body was destroyed but we needed to finish the fight otherwise he'd just come back, he always comes back,” Prompto explained slowly, staring down at his fingers. He caught the way the young woman straightened up in alarm in her seat as he spoke but now that he'd started, he couldn't stop. “Noct... told us to protect the citadel while he.... He summoned the Old Kings, and, he fought again. And then we felt his light vanish. We thought he was dead. We couldn't _feel_ him anymore,” he explained, rubbing his chest where he used to feel that warmth, the warmth that reminded him of lazy grins, distant laughter, nerd-gasms and grumpy mornings, snark, and an arm over his shoulder now and again, a twist of the lips that he used to dream meant a little more than it really was.

He didn't realise he'd started to cry until a handkerchief was being handed to him by the young woman. Flushed, he took it and mopped his face up.

“After that, we found Umbra. One of the Messengers. And then, it was like the ground dropped out from under us, and we woke up in that Salisbury,” Gladio finished up for him, glancing at him from the corner of his eye on concern. Prompto swallowed and waved him off. He was better than this, he didn't get why he was so wobbly right now, but he could guess. Their bodies were fourteen now, that included all the hormones and mental development of fourteen year olds. They might know better mentally, but their bodies were still going to react the same way that anyone their age would. Prompto was still going to cry at the thought of Noct's death, because he was a hundred times more of a cry-baby at fourteen than he ever had been at twenty, never mind thirty.

“And Umbra is who?” the woman asked, a sheet of paper and a feather quill appearing in front of her as she quickly wrote everything down.

“Luna's dog,” Prompto explained, making her hesitate and nod in obvious confusion.

“And this Ardyn character, who is he?” she asked.

Ignis scowled down at his knees, eyes shut, the echo of his burns still bleeding through his skin, dancing along his nerves, “Deceased,” he growled. His breath shook as he breathed out, and he grit his teeth, having to pinch his eyes as he felt them begin to burn with the onset of tears, the memory of the pain the Ring of the Lucii throbbing across his nerves absolutely nothing compared to the images his mind conjured of Noctis facing him alone again, Noctis in his father's chair, facing the Lucii, the Kings and Queens of Yore who cared nothing for life and only for correcting the mistake that was Ardyn. The things they would have done to him, and that Noctis would have _let them_.

There was a crunch, making him jump, and then Gladio shifted, “Sorry,” he muttered, a little sheepishly, and Ignis swallowed an almost hysterical laugh that would have most definitely devolved into gut wrenching sobs.

Gladio very carefully did not touch the arms of his chair again, the fabric now sagging and the stuffing misshapen from the way his grip had completely destroyed it. He knew full damn well what was running through Iggy's head, it was in his own too. King Regis had warned them that the Lucii were not kind, that they had been dead for too long to know kindness, that they looked to the future and would burn their own Kingdom to the ground in order to ensure the continuation of the future, not of themselves, but of the world. They were, at their core, a relentless, uncaring force beyond human concepts of good and evil.

Gods, even though they knew he was alive, could feel his light once again breathed into them, the warmth in their chests, the magic in their veins, it _hurt_ – so – much to think of him alone in this world. To think of what happened to him. What they _let_ happen to him. Prompto's eyes burned anew, Ardyn's mocking words swimming around his head again as he leaned forward to plant his forehead against Iggy's shoulder.

What if Noct... really did hate them for not... not trying hard enough?

For letting him sacrifice himself, for not even trying to convince him otherwise – did he think they didn't care enough about him? That after ten years they saw him only as a means to an end, a means to save themselves instead of their bestfriend? Did he want to see them again? Would he forgive them? Or curse them?

It hurt...

To think of his face twisted in hatred and pain.

What had he thought of them, when they let him walk away without a word? When he went up to that throne room alone....

Did he know they would die with him?

Did he know they loved him that much, that they would follow him even then, that a world without him was one they couldn't, _wouldn't_ , survive in?

Ignis leaned into him, bowing his head over his own, a hand coming up to grip the back of his neck.

There was a soft rustle, a quiet 'thnk'.

“Here, eat this,” the young woman said, dragging their attention away from their memories, holding out _chocolate_ of all things. None of them had seen chocolate in over a decade. Prompto used to remember in the beginning of the darkness promising to do a thousand push-ups a day for just one chocolate bar, even doing it once in the hopes that if he paid it forward then the Astrals of luck would smile on him. But they never did.

It didn't take long, but soon the woman was providing them with a pot of tea, some more chocolate, and even tiny sandwiches. Soft white bread, cold cuts of meat, and leafy _green_ salads. Prompto's hands shook as he picked one up, staring at it in awe.

“How many years...” he heard himself breathe as he gently fingered the soft food, feeling it compress under his touch, moist and soft and _fresh_.

Ignis carefully slit open his eyes, flinching in pain from the light, but desperate to see what he was holding, what his carefully skimming fingers told him was there, unable to believe his senses because surely they were _lying_. The sandwiches remained as they were, the pot of tea gently steaming in front of them, the little jug of milk collecting condensation, misty and dribbling.

“Bless you, miss,” the retainer croaked.

“Eat up,” she said instead, “I'll be back in a few,” she said, her voice hitching a little before she left the room, and left the three to explore the food provided with awe.

 

* * *

 

None of them were exactly sure what happened behind the closed door after that, they were too busy gorging themselves on a plate of sandwiches that never seemed to run out, and a bottomless pot of hot black tea. They ate, and ate, and ate, and for the first time in a _long_ time, were full. And probably going to regret it when their digestive systems turned around and went ' _what the hell is this?!!_ '. The only thing that would have made it better were if Noct was with them, complaining of a bloated stomach as well.

But Prompto kept that thought to himself. Iggy was barely holding it together, and Gladio was a hair away from destroying something or bursting into tears himself. It seemed as though the events of that night were finally beginning to sink in, along with their impromptu trip, and the two were wavering on the brink. Prompto had the amazing power of denial and self-loathing to keep going and ignore what happened, at least a bit longer. He had to, because the others were going to fall apart, and he needed to keep them safe.

Then the woman came back, and with her were two other people. A stern looking woman with a monocle called Madam Bones, and a man from the Department of Education called Professor Tofty.

The two unfamiliar people explained what was going to happen to them.

Because the heritage potion wouldn't be ready until tomorrow, they were going to be taken to a hotel. Auror Tonks, the young woman, would be their chaperone, they were to listen to her as she was there for their safety. The next morning they would take the potion to find their families, if there was anyone near-by they would be taken to them and the situation explained. If not, they would become wards of the Ministry and be enrolled within the nearest magic school, Hogwarts, where they would continue their magical education and live until they came of age and became responsible for themselves at seventeen. If they would please follow Auror Tonks, she would get their Missing Persons' paperwork sorted so the aurors could start looking for this 'Noct' they spoke of, and that was seemingly that.

The three were escorted out of the comfortable little room, through the hustle and bustle of the office cubicles to one on the far end belonging to Auror Tonks. She took their description of Noct, his name, appearance, the likelihood of his being injured, and gave it to a colleague to be copied and distributed, and even promised to have it printed in the 'Daily Prophet', the local newspaper.

And then they went to one of the large fireplaces.

They all visibly hesitated, and Auror Tonks had to spend twenty minutes explaining the entire procedure and how it worked to them before Gladio took a deep breath and volunteered to go first. He was the Shield, he would protect his comrades, make sure it was safe.

Auror Tonks went first to demonstrate, and, following after her, Gladio gripped his sweaty hands into a fist as he commanded the fire to take him to 'the Leaky Cauldron'.

There.... were no words.

Gladio _fell_ out of the fireplace, coughing and spluttering, reflex had him tucking and rolling, landing in a crouch, hands ready even as he blinked soot from his eyes.

“Never seen anyone _combat roll_ out of a floo before,” Tonks said, her voice mixed with surprise and amusement before a hand was shoved in front of his nose, “On your feet.”

Still coughing, he grabbed her hand and let her help him up, sneezing when she used her wand to clean the soot from his clothes, and glowering at the back of her head as Prompto was practically _thrown_ out of the fireplace, yelling and flailing as he tried to do the same kind of roll as Gladio, but ended up skidding forward on his face as his less than graceful fourteen year old body stumbled on the uneven floorboards.

“Ouch,” he couldn't help but mutter as the young woman went to help him up.

And, of course, Ignis stepped out as though he were taking a leisurely stroll through the royal gardens, only the tightness of his mouth, and the pallor of his skin betraying how uncomfortable the journey had made him – then he breathed, and Gladio realised that he'd been holding his breath through the whole thing. Ah, he was a bit nervous around magical fire these days, and with good reason. They would have to find another transportation method in future – and slap Iggy for not speaking up of his discomfort too! Did he think they would get angry or something?

“Let's get you settled in a room. You alright with sharing?” Tonks asked as she spelled both Prompto and Ignis clean, and even healed the bloody nose that the blond sniper got in his less than graceful reentry.

“We'd prefer to stick together,” Gladio declared firmly. He didn't trust these people, and wanted to keep his people as close as possible.

The young woman nodded, her hair changing colour yet again to something vivid and purple before she went and spoke to the old toothless hunchback behind the counter. That guy had definitely seen better days. Hell, the whole bar had in all honesty. It was probably a good thing Iggy had his eyes closed, if he got a good look at this place, every hair on his body would stand straight in revulsion. It was very dark, decrepit, and grimy. Somehow. These people had magic that _cleaned_ , how could this place end up with corners so filthy they ended up _black_ – unless the magic wasn't perfect? That bore considering.

Auror Tonks returned bearing two keys, one for them, another for herself she explained with a strained grin as she led the way up the stairs.

Upstairs wasn't any cleaner, and it made even less sense. He peered between two corridors that split apart from each other. The first doors of which were.... they couldn't have been separated by anything more than six inches of dry-wall, and yet he watched as one of those doors was opened, and a woman pulling an old fashioned travelling trunk emerged from a space that was in no way big enough for _herself_ let alone the eighteen inch thick trunk she pulled behind her.

He rubbed his eyes and exchanged a look of disbelief with Prompto whose jaw had dropped at the sight of the impossible.

Right. Right. Mental breakdown _later._ Behind closed doors.

Right.

He straightened up and followed Auror Tonks down the corridor on the left, and down a space that.... felt longer than it looked as they walked. Astrals this was going to fuck with his head. But eventually they reached their rooms.

“Here we are. This is you,” Tonks declared, opening one of the doors inward, to reveal a fairly nice room. Wooden floors, wooden wall panels to a waist-high trim, and cream and brown floral wallpaper up to the white and black beamed ceiling. A fireplace too small for transportation but plenty enough to keep the room warm. A set of bunk-beds against the wall on one side of the room, and a single bed set beneath a grimy window on the other. A desk stood against the wall just to the left of the door as they peered inside, and on the floor was a thick plush wine-red oval rug that went from the foot of one bed to the other – so no one would get cold feet when they first got out of bed.

“I'm right next door, if you need anything, or have questions, don't hesitate to knock,” the young woman explained with a smile as the three ventured inside. “Want me to come get you for dinner later?” she asked gently.

“Uh,” Prompto said before looking between them both and then back to her, “Sure.”

The young woman nodded, giving them all a once over before awkwardly gesturing, her face kind of helpless but twisted with concern. She probably wanted to stay and help them, but just didn't know what to do, or how to sooth them. So... she just kind of... left.

Her sympathy was appreciated, but right now, they needed some down time to freak out in privacy.

“You okay Prompto?” he asked, looking at their most emotionally vulnerable member.

He gave them a thumbs up, winking with his tongue poking out, “I have the power of denial and self-loathing on my side. I can hold it together a while longer!” he assured them.

Gladio nodded slowly as Ignis sat down heavily on the bed, and then slumped, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

“Thanks.”

Prompto smiled sadly and grabbed the chair from the desk, pushing it against the door and then sitting back against it, watching the window, and giving both Gladio and Ignis time to mourn.

They would need each other, and when his time came, they'd both be there for him too.

And when they found Noct.... they were never going to let him go again.

 

* * *

 

Despite the room providing more than enough in the way of beds, with how they were feeling, and would continue to feel, they ended up dragging all the mattresses and bedding onto the floor and sleeping in a pile together, limbs thrown over one another so they could wake when one delved into nightmares and wake them before doing the same for the other. But... without the familiar hum of Lestallum's powerplant, the chugging of the generators at Hammerhead, the distant light through the curtains of the UV-lamps that kept the daemons at bay, the sound of people shouting and all the hardware they used to keep the hunters equipped and fed, their outposts powered and stocked, it just.... it was too quiet, and too dark.

Sleep was hard to come by.

There was no musty smell, no damp, they were so full their stomachs hurt, and despite their aches and the emotional roller-coaster, they weren't exhausted enough for the more familiar crash that they often partook in.

They woke to the sound of a knock at the door, still tired, sporting headaches and generally feeling angry at the world.

At least Auror Tonks looked just as tired and hateful about the early hour as the rest of them. “Come on guys, breakfast, and then back to the Ministry.”

Showers were taken, clothing pulled on, cleaning spells hitting them all, before they made their way down the stairs to get some food at the bar. The clientele of the bar wasn't much cleaner, or pleasant looking, than the bar itself. Men and women in robes of various colours, with crooked noses, missing teeth, messy hair, and all sorts were milling around the room. Some smoked, others read the paper. In the gloom it actually looked like a scene from a seedy Altissian historical drama.

The menu had a lot of unknown stuff on it, what was a Full English Breakfast? Or French Toast? The descriptions gave them _something_ of an idea – he wondered what  _kind_ of meat the sausages were, he had no idea what bacon was, what kind of tomato were they serving, what egg was used on the french toast?

In the end, Gladio chose the Full English, it seemed to have the most meat in it, and really, he was never going to pass up an opportunity for a breakfast full of it. Prompto jumped on the only meal that he recognised and went for the pancake platter, while Ignis suspiciously decided to try the French Toast, and practically inhaled an entire pot of coffee by himself. Relishing every gulp of his much missed, and much beloved, beverage. Much to Auror Tonks confused hilarity (a fourteen year old drinking black coffee, holy shit, _really?_ ).

The trip to the Ministry was done via Portkey after both Gladio and Prompto put their feet down about the fire-travel, Ignis attempting to assure them he was fine and getting ignored as Auror Tonks said it was no problem, and used a tea-towel to make the needed object to take them where they needed to go.

The heritage potions was... about what they expected.

Included on it were Death Days as well.

It was... somewhat upsetting to note that Gladio's father had died the day before his mother. Likely she didn't make it out of Insomnia and perished in the early hours of the morning. Ignis' parents died the same day as Gladio's father, likely the MT's that broke into the citadel killed them in the cross-fire, or perhaps they had been part of the crowd outside and been caught in the explosions of the terrorist groups that attacked during the signing.

Prompto only had one name, Verstael Besithia, on his paperwork. Something that made both Gladio and Ignis gape and stare at him. When Prompto explained that he had originally been meant as an MT subject, they had assumed he was just another Niflheim orphan taken by the military. Not that he had been the head scientist's own son – though, that wasn't quite right either. Prompto's name was _next to_ his, as though they were siblings instead of father and son, but given the ages, Basithia was in his fifties when Prompto was born, so that couldn't be right, his parents (because they were fullblood siblings according to the paperwork) would have been too old to conceive him naturally... His death date was.... during the short period of time when they were all separated. Barely two days before they found Prompto hanging from that fucking Astral damned machine in Zegnautus Keep.

The only individual listed as alive on those papers was Iris.

The dates made perfect sense to them, but to the aurors, it was especially confusing because, if their maths were correct in comparison to the birthdates listed for the boys, then none of their parents should be dead yet. They wouldn't be dying for another six years. And yet, they were listed as dead. The potion didn't lie, _couldn't_ lie. So.... Where did that leave them?

In the end, they were forced to throw their hands up, complain about magic, and carry on as best they could. Sometimes things just happened, and a witch just had to roll with it – according to Tonks.

Paperwork was drawn up, keys were collected, and a strangely familiar woman was escorted through the doors to meet them wearing black robes trimmed in a strange green plaid pattern.

“This is Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” Madam Bones introduced briskly, the other woman nodding to them in greeting. “Minerva, these are the boys we discussed last night, Prompto Argentum, Ignis Scientia, and Gladiolus Amicitia. Unfortunately the results of the potion were as we feared, and none of them have any available family to take them in. Boys, as of now, you will be wards of the Ministry of Magic. Your education will be handled at Hogwarts until you come of age, after that, you are free to make of yourselves what you wish, but until then, Professor McGonagall will be responsible for your care while at Hogwarts.”

“What about our friend?” Prompto blurted, looking between them in rising panic, “What about Noct?”

Madam Bones shook her head, “Sadly, no one had come forward with any information _yet._ The article was only printed this morning, Mister Argentum, please be patient.”

Professor McGonagall shifted, drawing their attention, “Hogwarts does boast an extensive library, the largest and most comprehensive in England. I am sure you can find a means to locate your friend there while Madam Bones continues her own investigations,” she suggested reasonably, peering at the blond over the edge of her glasses.

Instead of being cowed, the sniper frowned, “How? And – why wouldn't _they_ know them, or use them, if they're the kind of thing you can find in a school library?” he asked, gesturing to Madam Bones and Auror Tonks behind her.

The Chief of the DLME huffed a smile, “Because I have never met your Noct. Locator charms, Scrying, Tracking charms, many need an intimate connection, or a physical link to the subject in order to work. None of which my aurors or I possess,” she explained approvingly. Very few stopped to wonder why the aurors couldn't do such things; if they didn't know it was possible, then otherwise many assumed it was mere procedure to do so, but that couldn't be further from the truth. Were it that easy, Sirius Black would have been back in Azkaban within a week of his escape, to say nothing of various _other_ criminals up and down the country.

Both Prompto and Gladio glanced at each other, and then pointedly in Iggy's direction. He was practically Noct's mother having been the one to run after him since he was _three,_ if anyone were going to have something of his, it would be him. The retainer flushed slightly in embarrassment, his cheek twitching a little as he fought a grimace off his face, but he nodded a little at their unspoken question all the same. Yes, he had a small tuft of Noct's hair – still.

Gladio tossed his head, “Okay, where do we sign up?” he asked.

“Already done,” Professor McGonagall told them, “I'm here to escort you though Diagon Alley to get your school supplies and anything else you might need, before we make a quick stop up at Hogwarts to handle your Sorting, and class placement tests.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Ignis asked almost cheerfully, his mood improving almost threefold with the promise of a concrete means to find their king.

“What indeed?” Professor McGonagall agreed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to continue, have their Diagon Alley visit in the same chapter, but six pages of 'we just got here' I figured it was enough.


	3. Chapter 3

Apparently _wands_ were a thing.

Little wooden sticks, little _fragile_ wooden sticks with pieces of beasts inside of them that channelled magic into finer applications of use.

The old guy in the wand-shop, Ollivander, had been creepy on a level they previously believed that only Kimya at her most involved with 'blessing' could manage. They'd spent an uncomfortably long time at the wandmaker's mercy as he fluttered around them, presenting them with boxes, snatching them back the moment their fingers made contact with said wands – not giving them the chance to even take them out of their boxes.

After going through a wide variety of English Oak, Blackthorn, and Cypress wands, Gladio was finally _allowed_ to take an unyielding eleven inch Fir wand with a core of Dragon heartstring to the till. Ignis went through twice the number of wands as Gladio: Apple wood, Aspen, Beech, Elm, Holly, Vine, and finally settled on an eleven and a half inch supple Cedar wand with a unicorn tail hair. Prompto, despite going through _even more_ wands than the both of them, took the least amount of time, oddly, eventually taking away an eleven and a half inch bendy Dogwood wand with a unicorn tail hair. The downside to that was his wand refused to stop spewing sparkling glittery gold, blue, and white bubbles.

None of them were quite sure how one did magic with a piece of wood, or controlled it either – especially since they'd never needed it before (and there was some concerns about accidentally setting those delicate lengths of wood on _fire_ given Iggy's predilection for the element in question – and how he often set his daggers on fire). But if these things were the only way to help them find Noctis with magic, then they would just have to deal with it, wouldn't they?

Though.... Prompto was fairly sure that Gladio would end up throwing it over his shoulder and just punch anyone that got in their way rather than try casting any of their magic through it. He himself was somewhat worried about accidentally snapping his wand to be honest. He had always been clumsy, though at thirty had become much more sure footed, but at fourteen he was still growing into himself, his body was still misshapen, too thin in some places, still bearing puppy fat in others, meaning he was clumsy as hell. As for Iggy.... Aside from his initial, well hidden, distaste seemed to be quite at home with the wand he had, much more used to delicate work from his years as a chef, as well as being blind, giving him finesse the others couldn't match.

Throughout the trip, Professor McGonagall had given them all the impression of being a stern, hard-arsed school matron – but she ended up being a lot softer than they'd given her credit for. She reminded them all of a slightly more emotive Marshal, before the Eternal Night, the one they saw again when Noct came back into their lives, the one that could smile and joke about the old days without looking as though his heart were tearing into pieces.

Before collecting the Portkey that would take them to Hogwarts, they stopped off at her recommendation at the two pet-shops. At first, he hadn't been interesting in obtaining a pet, but upon being told that owls were the primary form of communication in this world and that Owl Order books were possible, Ignis ended up leaving Eylops Owl Emporium with a handsome male snowy owl as prim and proper as he himself that he named Clarico. At the Magical Menagerie next door, both Gladio and Prompto found themselves fuzzy companions of their own – or rather, Gladio found one, Prompto was found instead.

It was probably a little masochistic, but once the thought occurred to him, Gladio found it physically impossible to walk away from the fist sized purring custard coloured ball with berry black eyes called a Puffeskein. Iris would have gone completely gaga for the little thing; he ended up calling it Mochi, and told himself that once they had Noct in hand, and returned back home, he would give it to her. Prompto however hadn't intended on getting a pet, not after the heartbreak he had when Pryna ran away from him and the loss of his beloved chocobo out on the road in a daemon attack. He had been lingering at the back of the store, determined to ignore all the cuties frolicking around him when he found himself yelping in pain as something sharp landed on his shin, _and then began to crawl up his leg_.

The pure black kitten with large china blue eyes glared up at him from his thigh, with scruffy fur that was both short and long in awkward patches. It meowed demandingly once it realised he was paying attention to it, and proceeded to start trying to catch the bubbles that were _still_ leaking out of his wand, currently stuffed into his back pocket and leaving a glittering trail of magic in his wake.

If ever there was a cat that could look like Noctis..... this would be it.

He.... could not say no, not with the familiar petulant scowl on that tiny little fuzzy face. He.... did _not_ call the cat Noctis, though it was very close. Somnus left the Magical Menagerie on Prompto's shoulder, having scorned the cat-carrier and bitten the sales-woman who attempted to wrestle him into it.

Ignis actually opened his eyes when he heard the kitten squeak indignantly as Gladio prodded it in amusement, clawing at his finger without success. He burst out laughing, having to turn away and cover his mouth at the look of sheepish embarrassment on Prompto's face and the look of outright offence on the kitten's. He didn't hold it against him, he had been so surprised when he saw the little animal, he had believed for all of a few seconds that Noct had been reborn _as_ a cat. It would have suited him down to a T. But no, despite the uncanny resemblance, Somnus had none of Noct's familiar light about him.

The group stored their belongings in their room in the Leaky Cauldron, putting Somnus, Mochi, and Clarico inside as they were warned that a Portkey would be uncomfortable for them. The Portkey in question was a battered old hulahoop of scuffed red plastic, cracked and muddy in places, presented to them in the bar by Professor McGonagall who handled it with obvious distaste.

Hogwarts.... The had never seen anything quite like it before.

They landed at the gates in a small train-station like area where a carriage pulled by winged skeletal horses waited for them. Prompto yelped and immediately, reflexively, reached into the Armiger for his gun only to grasp cold stone instead of steel or ivory as he stumbled backwards.

“The hell are those things?!” Gladio snarled, immediately deepening his stance and clawing his fists, ready to reach for his magic and blast them back into the darkness they surely must have come from.

“No!” the Professor immediately slid between them, her arms spread protectively, her face carved and harsh, “That is enough!” she commanded so powerfully that Gladio found himself straightening out of sheer _reflex_. Astrals, that was the _exact_ tone that Cor used to carry during his training when Gladio overreached himself and was about to get in over his head.

The woman glared him dead in the eye as she lowered her arms, “There is nothing that can hurt you _here_ , at this time, Mister Amicitia,” she declared sternly, making the thirty-three year old wince a little internally as he leaned to the side and eyed the daemon-horses sceptically. She glanced over her shoulder to them and sighed deeply, “These... are Thestrals, a breed of Winged Horse. Hogwarts has the only domesticated herd in Europe, perhaps the world, the research is still pending. They are.... invisible to the naked eye, unless one has witnessed death. They possess a rather macabre reputation because of this, and coupled with their appearance....” She sighed again and then, quite pointedly, made her way over and started petting the closest one. “They are quite tame, I assure you. This one is, I believe, called Cupcake.”

“Cup... cake?” Ignis echoed, his eyes opening to take in the somewhat blurry form of the horse-like creature.

Professor McGonagall nodded, “Our Care of Magical Creatures professor has an interesting taste in names.” She eyed them thoughtfully, before stepping away from the horse, “Thestrals are carrion eaters, and they will fight in defence of the herd. You will find that with many of Hagrid's creatures, the more benign and cutesy the name is, the more dangerous the creature in question. And vice versa,” she explained as she opened the carriage door and gestured them inside.

Hand still clutched tight over the object he pulled from the Armiger, Prompto swallowed and, determinedly, gave the 'thestral' a pet on the nose. It snorted at him, and then shoved its head a little closer, demanding more. He grinned in delight, and used both hands to fuss the creature as his wand burbled and spurted even more bubbles out behind him.

“Prompto?” Ignis called softly, amused.

“Ahh-haha, right, sorry Iggy,” the blond said as he hurried into the carriage. Inside was kind of musty, and smelt a bit of damp and straw, but he'd slept in worse during the years of darkness.

“Gotta say, things like that? We'd have killed them back home as a threat. Can't believe someone got it into their heads to tame 'em,” Gladio admitted as Prompto practically hung out of the window, eyeing the treeline.

“They are a breed of winged horse, Mister Amicitia,” Professor McGonagall explained stiffly, “The taming of such creatures dates back thousands of years, and even possesses fame within non-magical fables, such as the myth of Pegasus.”

Prompto let the chatter wash over him, carefully pulling his arms in as he hung out of the window, and opened his hand.

Sat in his palm, undamaged, unscratched, and undimmed despite the years, was a simple crystalline statuette.

Carbuncle.

He- he had _Carbuncle_ in his hand. The little statuette King Regis gave Noct when he was a kid. The one that Noct swore up and down he found on his pillow after he fell into a coma when he was eight after he was attacked by a daemon. Prompto had always been a little sceptical of his buddy's story about the dream-world and the green fox spirit that guided him to safety, to his dad, and woke him up. But despite _never_ seeing the Messenger in person, some of his pictures.... if he looked closely enough, sometimes he would see a little green fox in the background with a ruby red horn upon its forehead.

Carbuncle.... A Messenger, or a Minor Astral?

And now, here, with them in this alien world that was so familiar, but so different to what they knew.

The crystal warmed in his hands, and he saw the tip of the statuette's horn glimmer red briefly, and then it cooled. Ordinarily he would have doubted, would have wondered if he had been seeing things. But he knew better than to question his senses now. He just had to trust.

Carefully, he stowed it back into the Armiger. Maybe.... Maybe Noctis needed him where-ever he was.

Could he _access_ the Armiger?

Prompto paused, and then wanted to hit himself.

_They_ still had access to the Armiger! True they had no idea what was inside, and attempts to summon familiar objects from before were all failures, but they could still access it, still store and recall objects placed within _after_ their arrival. What was to say that Noct _couldn't_? It was _his_ power! Instead of Missing Persons' reports, and articles in the newspaper, why not just stuff a letter in the Armiger?! Surely Noct would find it, and read it, and _know_ they were looking for him!

“Oh. My...” Ignis breathed at his side. He jumped, and twisted to look at him, the Retainer was staring up past him, into the distance.

“Whoa...”

It was a castle. Bigger than Costlemark, and Steyliff grove. It – it looked like Fenestala Manor, but whole. White and pale gold stone, tall arching blue-grey roofs, with towers reaching up to the sky. Greenery stretching out in front of it as far as the eye could see, a placid lake, so deep the water looked black in the centre, and a forest that looked more akin to Malmalam Thicket than even Malmalam Thicket did these days.

“We're.... going to _school_ here?” Prompto found himself asking as he sat back in the carriage to stare at the amused looking witch.

“Yes, Mister Argentum. Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

 

* * *

 

Inside was no less impressive, marble staircases and what they had at first thought were TVs in picture-frames with the way the images moved, but they actually realised were enchanted paintings that could move from frame to frame however they pleased, talk, and were _aware_ of the goings on outside their frames! Memories of Daemon Walls pretending to be paintings set Prompto's skin crawling as he skittered closer to the guys, fingertips sparking with lightning, just in case.

Professor McGonagall escorted them to her office were they found themselves sitting a test paper for the first time since their teens.

“This is just to give us an idea of where to start your tutoring off at,” she explained as she handed them feather quills, “I've scheduled for lunch to be brought up once you're finished, and I'll mark them while you eat. After that, Sorting.”

“Sorting?” Prompto asked curiously as he fiddled with the quill. He'd played with them before when he was younger, even learned a little calligraphy, thinking it would be the kind of thing that might impress Noct, but it turned out that the very idea of calligraphy made his friend cringe in remembrance of his tutoring lessons (he cursed the daemon who invented cursive in many and various imaginative ways).

“Indeed, while at Hogwarts, your house will be your home, your housemates your family. You will sleep within your house dormitories, eat at your house table, and take lessons with your housemates. Your triumphs will earn you housepoints, while any rule-breaking will see them removed. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup,” the Professor explained as she took her own seat behind a neat wooden desk, “Hogwarts boasts four houses, each named for our founders, and following those qualities they held highest. Those brave and noble to Gryffindor, hardworking and loyal to Hufflepuff, intelligence and wit to Ravenclaw, and cunning and ambition to Slytherin.”

She sounded so proud, but Prompto's mind was stuck on one thing as he stared at her, unable to stop the sudden drop in the pit of his stomach. Even his wand stopped making those glittery bright bubbles.

“You're splitting us up?” he heard his own voice ask, sounding so small and vulnerable he immediately wanted to hit himself.

He was _thirty!_ He had walked the roads of a world swallowed in darkness, drowning in daemons, _on his own for ten years!_ He had been the one to run supplies up to Meldacio when the doors of Steyliff Grove opened and spewed thousands of daemons across the Vesperpool and onto the overwhelmed Hunter HQ. He had been the one to brave the Fallgrove roads close to Costlemark to run medicine and supplies to Galdin Quay when a disease cropped up. Until Noct came back, he hadn't _seen_ either of the others for over a _year_! They'd kept in contact via text message, passing updates to each other just to make sure they were still alive, staying on the move.

But then Noct _did_ come back, and they were all together again. Like a car finally returned to the road. The four of them, and all four wheels. It had been _right_. And then.... and then Noct was gone, and a part of him was now....

Professor McGonagall stared at him as if suddenly realising something, her face softened, “Hogwarts is a home as well as a school, gentlemen. You may sleep in separate rooms, and take lessons separately, but we will not be separating you. If you go to separate houses, then you will still be friends, will you not?” she asked gently.

Prompto shook his head and slapped his cheeks, “It's cool! It's cool, I'm fine, we're fine, it's fine,” he babbled, feeling his face burn in embarrassment. “Can we just ignore I said that? Please? It's super uncool.”

“Let's just get this over with,” Gladio grumbled, his _hero_ , quickly taking Professor McGonagall's attention away from him just enough that when Ignis stretched a leg over to nudge him it didn't make Prompto want to hide under his desk in utter mortification.

“You have two hours, try to answer as many questions as possible. If you don't understand, simply write it, or whether or not you even know of the subject, and move on,” Professor McGonagall explained, “If it is the wording of a question itself you are having trouble with, feel free to ask me for clarification.”

Welp.

Prompto stared down at his paper with a rising feeling of hilarity. He knew absolutely NONE of this. Excellent. He could already tell that this was going to be fantastic – and with a look to both his left and right, he could see Ignis quietly having a kind of existential crisis that he too could answer absolutely nothing, and Gladio writing with that kind of reckless 'fuck it' attitude that only the most clueless exam takers back in highschool could pull off when they were winging it. The saying 'You either knew everything, or you knew nothing' was never more applicable than when in an exam. You'd only find out afterwards which one you were. Unless it was like this. In which case, you damn well knew you knew nothing.

Goblin rebellions?

These people had _goblins_ as legitimate members of society along with their daemon horses?

This.... was going to take some getting used to.

Quietly, as he picked up his quill, he hoped that chocobos existed, somewhere.

 

* * *

 

The three stared at the thick stew and dumplings in front of them, glistening with fresh vegetables, slow cooked tear-it-apart-with-a-fork soft meat, thick stodgy dumplings sprinkled with herbs, glossy gravy, and steamed vegetables on the side. Spotless glasses and three jugs upon the table in front of them, water so clean it was spotless, not even the limescale flakes seen from taps in Insomnia before the Fall could be seen in the fluid, a bright yellowish-orange juice that smelt unfamiliar and completely alien, and what was unmistakably orange juice. Freshly squeezed, still with pulp floating in the thick coloured fluid.

The three exchanged looks.

If they ate this....

Their intestines were going to _hate_ them more than they already did. However.... if this was what they had to look forward to from now on.... It was probably for the best that they adjusted quickly. And that wasn't just their tastebuds talking as the _smell_ made their mouths water desperately.

Astrals, Prompto could cry.

The smell alone.... He'd missed Iggy's cooking out on the road, _desperately missed it_. But there was also no denying that, regardless of how skilled their beloved Igster was, he couldn't perform like he used to with the subpar ingredients they rustled up after ten years of darkness. What few beasts that hadn't succumbed to the Scourge were malnourished and stringy without much on them worth eating, the greens were withered and sad, and many of the spices and oils they would have once used were no more.

The sandwiches yesterday were enough to bring them to tears in that meeting room, it took some real effort to prevent a repeat in front of Professor McGonagall now as she steadily worked her way through their papers as they dipped their spoons into the bowls and ate _hot_ food. Hot _fresh_ food.

They didn't speak. They just ate, slowly, and mechanically, savouring the flavours, and swallowing the stinging behind their burning eyes as they tried the jugs, finding the orange juice much sweeter than expected, and the odd juice they couldn't identify as something a little like a milder Leiden Sweet Potato.

By the time they'd finished their bowls, the Professor was finished with two of the test papers, and onto the third as a pop vanished their dirty dishes, and swapped them with three plates of sliced fruit and something that looked like kupoberry cheesecake.

Prompto got maybe three mouthfuls of it before he had to push it away, mournful because it was _so good_ , but it was just so rich he physically _couldn't_ stomach anymore. Gladio hadn't even tried, but Ignis was determinedly still working away at it, refusing to let his stomach get between him and his appreciation of a good dessert. The Professor worked in silence, and it wasn't long before the blond started to pick at the sliced fruits still on his plate, nibbling on orange segments and slices of something juicy and pale-green that he couldn't identify but were sweet and mild.

“Well,” the Professor suddenly said, taking them almost by surprise as they all looked up from where they had been nearly _dosing_ in their seats, “We have a lot of work ahead of us, but I can see you're all very intelligent young men. It should not take very long to get you all up to speed with a little dedication,” she decided with a smile.

From the corner of his eye, Prompto could see Ignis' shoulders tense up irritably. More than likely he was already contemplating breaking into that bookshop, Flourish and Blotts, and reading just about every tome he could get his hands on – he would not stand for being subpar in _any_ field. Noct would need him to be at his best, and Ignis could not be at his best unless he _was_ the best.

“I'll write a list of recommended reading materials to take with you when you leave. Now, shall we get started with your Sorting?” she asked almost brightly as she got to her feet from behind the desk.

He almost wanted to laugh a little and tell her there was no rush, but that would have been giving away that he was still uncertain about all this. And while his thirty-year-old brain was telling him it wasn't a big deal, the teenager he was beginning to find himself behaving more and more akin to was screaming somewhere in the back of his head with outright terror at the thought of being separated from Ignis and Gladio, about not fitting into this new house, about his friends leaving him and finding people that related to them better in their new houses. Of never finding Noct. Or worse, finding him – and realising they'd been replaced.

“This: is the Sorting Hat,” Professor McGonagall answered, presenting them with a battered, timeworn pointed leather hat.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” the hat _spoke_.

“That's new,” Gladio said, leaning back a little in his seat, eyes widening in surprise.

Ignis eyed it warily, “Thank you.” When in doubt, he went for manners, thanking the _hat_ for welcoming them into the school.

“So, how do we do this?” Prompto asked, looking at Professor McGonagall.

“I will place the hat upon your head, and it will decide which house fits you best,” she explained with a smile at the sceptical frown she received. “It's _magic_ , Mister Argentum,” she reminded him, watching his face spasm in amusement.

“What the hell, me first,” Gladio declared, “Where do you want me?”

“There is fine, Mister Amicitia,” the teacher told him before she casually dropped the hat upon his head. Gladio's head was just big enough that it didn't slide down and cover his eyes, his ears providing just enough strength to hold it up above his eyebrows. Eyebrows that spasmed in alarm.

“Whoa! Its in my _head!_ ” he exclaimed in surprise, “Mindreading?”

“ _RAVENCLAW!_ ” the hat suddenly burst.

Professor McGonagall whisked it off with a smile, “Well, how unexpected, I thought for sure I would see you with the rest of my lions, Mister Amicitia. Truly, one would think at my age I had learned better than to judge a book by its cover.”

Gladio flushed, rubbing the back of his head in a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure as he remembered that Ravenclaws were primarily housed by the intelligent and witty. Many looked at him and took in his slightly overworked tan (not that there was much of one these days unless he had been stuck at Lestallum for a long period of time working the fields), the muscles, and the long hair (not that it was long at fourteen) and assumed he was just your regular muscle-head fight junkie. None of them really realised that he loved reading non-fiction books about nature, that he could listen to Sania going on about her studies into biology and microbes and virology for _hours_ , completely fascinated and enchanted in turns by both her and her subject matter.

Prompto scooted backwards when she turned to him in the middle, and, taking that for what it was, she kindly by-passed him for Ignis while Gladio dropped a hand onto his shoulder, looking concerned.

He couldn't really explain it. Something in his head? Something that would weigh him and decide whether he was brave, or smart, or loyal, or cunning? And basically take him away from his friends? He didn't like the idea, didn't want to be separated from them – not like this. If it were like last time, like after Noct went into the crystal, when they all agreed that they needed to get stronger, that they were _plenty_ strong already, and that their strength would serve the people better if they split up and worked towards making sure there was a world for Noct to rule when he got back. _That_ was fine. This? This was not. And he didn't really have the words to explain why the very idea turned his stomach.

Maybe it was that anxiety he thought he had left behind somewhere in the tundra between Gralea and Zegnautus after he killed his... his original? His father? His _brother?_

“ _HUFFLEPUFF!_ ” the hat bellowed, near enough making Prompto jump out of his skin, and for Gladio to jerk his hand back as if burnt, startled despite himself as well.

Ignis sniffed as Professor McGonagall removed the hat, but he seemed pleased as well with the hat's decision. Prompto could understand that. Ignis prided himself on his loyalty to Noct, and Prompto was fairly sure the word 'hardwork' had been etched into Iggy's very soul at the moment of his creation, he didn't know anyone who worked harder in all honesty. The fact that Noct made it to become a semi-functioning adult was _because_ of Ignis, not despite him.

But still. That was two friends in different houses.

However.

He was pretty sure he was loyal enough to Noct for him to end up in Hufflepuff too. And he was no stranger to hardwork either – he lost all that weight afterall, and made himself from 'frump' to 'fashionable' with a lot of time and dedication. He had been scared that Gladio would end up in Gryffindor, and Ignis in Ravenclaw, and then when Gladio was sorted that both he and Iggy would remain together and he would be on his own, like before.

“Ready?” Professor McGonagall prompted gently, obviously understanding his nervousness.

“S-sure. Why not?” he asked rhetorically and squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn't be left staring at the inside of a hat for nothing (his head was a lot smaller than Gladio's).

_Not a bad mind, not at all. Smart. Very smart, but not one for showing that off. Undesirable? No, unwilling to overshadow, to drive away. You're quite the nervous fellow. Or rather, you simply have different values to most, no?_

_Ah, a thirst to prove yourself worthy, hm? A determination to be 'good enough' to stand at the side of Kings and Knights. To perhaps... seize the heart of one such King?_ The _King? My, my, how ambitious._

Prompto could feel his face starting to burn, oh Astrals, the mind reading hat now knew about his massive hopeless crush on Noct. About that silly deep dark desire to actually be _good_ enough to stand at his side, to even be considered.

“ _SLYTHERIN!_ ” the hat roared, and Prompto felt his heart drop.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you disagree with the house choices: FIGHT ME.
> 
> Gladio loves learning things. Every time you're in the car, he cracks open that book. The whole reason you even talk to Sania is because he makes you going “You might learn something”. Yeah he's a big flirt, but you gotta be pretty quick witted to be a good flirt. He is smart, and he likes reading, and he likes learning and discovering new things. Ravenclaw material.
> 
> Ignis is so fucking loyal he's straight up prepared to kill himself to buy an extra five minutes for Noct to live in Episode Ignis. He maims himself and still refuses to be left behind. He spends the next ten years regaining his full dexterity and ability, and then fucking IMPROVES on it all. Ignis is the definition of hardwork and loyalty. You know I'm right.
> 
> Prompto. Sweet summer child. The boy who looked at a lonely Prince and then decided 'I'm going to friend him so hard his head will spin – but first, gotta git gud'. His ambition is, on the surface, a humble one. But when you think about it, a commoner born in an enemy state, trying to become BFFs with the Country's Prince (the King of King's, and yes Regis knows exactly what Noctis is). Prompto's got ambition, and then he's also got the forward thinking enough to achieve it. That takes cunning. He might not be good at talking to people, but he survived Gralea, and got to Zegnautus Keep on his own. Survived the ten years of darkness. And let's be fair, look at some of the other examples of Slytherins: Crabbe and Goyle, Millicent Bullstrode, Marcus Flint, Delores Umbridge? Also, can you imagine? Sunshine child Pompom in the pit of snakes? They'd never know what hit them.
> 
> Wands!
> 
> Gladio's Fir wand: Fir wands demand staying power and strength of purpose in their true owners, and that they are poor tools in the hands of the changeable and indecisive. Fir wands are particularly suited to transfiguration, and favour owners of focused, strong-minded and, occasionally, intimidating demeanour. Fir wands are called 'the survivor's wand.' 
> 
> Iggy's Cedar wand: The Cedar wand finds its perfect home where there is perspicacity and perception. The witch or wizard who is well-matched with cedar carries the potential to be a frightening adversary, which often comes as a shock to those who have thoughtlessly challenged them. 
> 
> Prompto's Dogwood wand: Dogwood wands are quirky and mischievous; they have playful natures and insist upon partners who can provide them with scope for excitement and fun. It would be quite wrong, however, to deduce from this that dogwood wands are not capable of serious magic when called upon to do so; they have been known to perform outstanding spells under difficult conditions, and when paired with a suitably clever and ingenious witch or wizard, can produce dazzling enchantments. Some dogwood wands refuse to perform non-verbal spells and they are often rather noisy.


	4. Chapter 4

Prompto was ashamed to admit it, but he was disgustingly clingy for the rest of the day once Professor McGonagall gave them their reading list, and escorted them back to the Leaky Cauldron. This time, it was Ignis who held his hand and lead him back to their room instead of the other way around, Gladio at his back, a familiar and comforting rock-steady presence.

Somnus kicked up a racket as soon as they stepped inside, having been sat at the door waiting for them. Prompto found himself bundled up in all their blankets with a very demanding kitten in his hands being taken care of by Ignis while Gladio took their reading list and went to quickly collect everything on there before returning. Thankfully, he didn't have to explain himself to the others, they.... kinda got it, even without words. And judging by the white knuckled grip that Ignis kept on his hand, he probably felt the same way, at least on one level. Prompto wondered, somewhere internally, whether the others had seriously considered losing one of their number before – he knew that Iggy's wearing the ring had _rattled_ them badly, Gladio and Noct most of all. But he wondered still all the same, if both Gladio and Ignis' sense of duty and their sheer stubborn determination, the fact that their whole lives had been wrapped inseparably with Noct's since their infancy, if they had ever considered life without him, or life without each _other_.

Prompto had been alone for half of his life. He wondered if that knowledge made him stronger against that dread, or weaker?

He... thought it was probably weaker. He knew loneliness. Knew what being surrounded by people but still being desperately alone was like. And then he had been taken in by Noct, by Iggy, by Gladio, by Cor, Holly, Libertas, Cindy, Cid, Iris, Aranea, Monica, Talcott, Dustin, Dave, and all the other Glaives and hunters around the world. He found a place, a home, and people to belong to. And now they were all gone save for Ignis and Gladio, and now they were being _separated_ , after they'd come so far, after they'd _lost_ Noct, and now found a way to find him again.

He ached as he dropped his head onto Iggy's shoulder, squeezing his hand back just as tightly, his knees drawn up, Somnus held against his chest – cool pink pads pressed against his cheek, peeping curiously. And then irritably until he rubbed a finger under its jaw (was his cat male or female? He... didn't know).

Gladio returned shortly with the books, and dropped down to Prompto's other side, a warm weight as he rustled his bags and took one of the tomes out to start reading. No words needed.

And when Prompto took a breath and sat up straight, the Shield handed him a book from the bag without a second glance, and another one to Iggy.

They spent the day reading about this strange new world they'd found themselves in.

 

* * *

 

_SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP_ blared up at them from the headline of the local newspaper the next day, a photograph of a glittering skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth over a forest filling the majority of the front page.

Having read ' _Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ ' last night, the three felt their hearts sink at the depiction of the Death Eater's preferred banner – and anger at the twisting of a Lucian symbol of sacrifice and dignity. The Crownsguard skull was a _respected_ mark, one denoting the wearer's willingness to face death in defence of the realm, to fight even beyond the grave when called upon. To find that the skull had been appropriated by a gang of murderous terrorists and civil dissenters and twisted into a symbol of terror and death and horror turned their stomachs.

“ _Ministry blunders... culprits not apprehended... lax security –_ this does not bode well,” Ignis read softly over his plate of breakfast, squinting irritably at the text and mentally vowing to find an opticians as soon as possible to get himself some functioning glasses once more. “I do not think Madam Bones would be one to tolerate anything even akin to 'lax security' on her watch, she rather reminds me of Lord Amicitia,” the Retainer admitted with a nod to Gladio who nodded in agreement. His father was a hardass, politically savvy, and did not tolerate anything being 'half-assed'.

Prompto swallowed his toast from where he was reading over Iggy's shoulder, “Gotta say, this reads more like a tabloid than a reputable newspaper,” he pointed out, “Lotta sensationalist language, lotta speculation, rumour mongering too. Is this the only paper?” he asked, leaning away to eye the newspaper rack at the bar. A few magazines caught his eye, another three copies of the Daily Prophet, but nothing else. There was a paper written in a foreign language bearing a similar photograph, that same skull and serpent duo. But other than that, the Daily Prophet seemed to be the _only_ newspaper on offer. Weird. “Who wrote the article? We'll just have to see if there's a more reputable writer to fact check against,” he said as he took another bite of his food.

Ignis nodded, not surprised at the blond's dissection of the paper. Noct informed him that Prompto had some skill in the area back when they were teenagers, and more than once had picked out when some tabloid was attempting to build a rumour out of nothing but breadcrumbs before they even got started. Not to mention Vyv's constant recruitment attempts, and Dino's general... everything.

“A Ms Rita Skeeter,” he announced, before flipping through the paper a little more, “She seems to be the foremost writer for the paper if the number of articles she's penned is an indication.”

“Shame,” Gladio grunted after swallowing his eggs and bacon.

No more was said on the matter as Ignis continued going through the paper, sighing quietly when he stumbled across their unanswered Missing Person's ad at the back of the paper right in front of the sports-section. Something that seemed wholly devoted to something called 'Quidditch'. The same sport that the was featured on the front page. This time they were gushing about a historical first, Ireland winning the game, while Bulgaria caught the snitch – whatever that was.

Ignis took a sip of his drink as he eyed the photograph of the Irish team accepting the large 'Quidditch World Cup', Seeker Aiden Lynch looking very dazed and possibly concussed but pleased as his teammates Troy and Quigley hefted up the large likely golden cup, it was hard to tell in a black and white photograph.

And then he saw it, and promptly inhaled his coffee, choking on it.

“Iggy?!” Prompto yelped, immediately jumping to his feet and patting his back as he broke out into a coughing fit, clutching the paper to his chest to shield it from food, drink, or anything else that might have damaged it.

“What's wrong? What did you find?” Gladio demanded, whacking him on the back, right between his shoulderblades, two – three times, helping him to dislodge the last drips of coffee from his oesophagus. Ignis shoved his plate away, still coughing slightly as he laid the newspaper down, and pointed at the picture of the Irish team receiving the cup.

The top box was well lit, a family of heavily freckled people, likely red heads, were sat to the left of the picture, applauding wildly as the Irish team jumped up and down gleefully, the Minister of Magic – titled Cornelius Fudge beneath the picture, looking grumpy as he occasionally shot a glare at a dark haired man that was apparently the Bulgarian Minister of Magic. And there, between a girl and one of the freckled boys on the left.....

“Is – is that _Noct?_ ” Gladio blurted, squinting down at the tiny slightly blurred figure with wild black hair.

Prompto could barely breathe, his heart lodged firmly in his throat as he stared down at the picture, “It is,” he breathed. The eyes were a different shape, larger, and rounder, but the wild hair, the cheekbones, the awkward slightly shy smile as he watched the celebrating sportsmen and clapped for them. It was Noct. His eyes scoured the list of names, but it was only the team and the important Ministry Officials listed.

“He looks young,” Gladio observed, eyeing the picture carefully. “Younger than us. The two next to him look to be our age, so we can ask about them at Hogwarts.”

“What if he's at one of those other schools though?” Prompto asked anxiously, mind flashing back to the books they read about the general magical world, particularly the other countries and schools that were near-by. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang being the closest.

Ignis swallowed, “Supposedly there is an event at Hogwarts this year that will bring students from other schools onto the grounds, it's mentioned a few pages back. The Triwizard Tournament. Apparently the negotiations with Norway are in a stalemate, putting preparations back at least a week. We can ask the other students about him when they arrive.”

“If they arrive,” Prompto muttered softly, eyes never leaving the image of Noct clapping in the picture.

“If they don't, then we'll simply have to go to them then,” Ignis sniffed.

“Hold up guys, before we go jumping to all sorts of conclusions,” Gladio said, placing a hand down on the paper, hiding the picture, “Are we absolutely, one hundred percent, without a shadow of a doubt, certain that this _is_ Noct?” he asked firmly, looking the both of them dead in the eye. “I want to believe it, same as you, hell, I'm pretty sure myself. But this is just a picture, and an uncanny resemblance. Let's not get our hopes up.”

Common sense told him to agree with Gladio, but everything in Prompto told him that _this_ was Noctis. That he was staring directly at a picture of his bestfriend. And he would know better than anyone, the number of them he'd taken over the years.

But he kept his mouth shut as they finished the last of their breakfast, eyes occasionally, traitorously, flicking back to that picture.

That _was_ Noctis.

He was sure of it.

 

* * *

 

The next two weeks were filled with cram-study sessions the likes of which Prompto hadn't done since his rush combat Crownsguard training before their messed up roadtrip to Altissia. But this time, instead of weapons, tactics, vehicles, and other tech, it was magic and history and books they were trying to devour wholesale into their brains.

Ignis explored Diagon Alley, and found a few second hand shops where he got even _more_ books, determined to master this strange world. Gladio, ever the voracious reader, would have one laid open in front of him as he did his push-ups in the morning, did his yoga stretches, and eventually dug out some charms and spells to transform candle-stick holders into dumbbells, or increased the weight enough to act as dumbbells. Prompto went jogging in the mornings, exploring Diagon Alley in its twisting and crooked entirety, and then the less friendly Knockturn Alley – he ended up having to kick a man unconscious when he tried to mug him, and people seemed to take that as all the warning they needed to leave him alone. He poked his nose into all the weird places, not very put off by the darkness of it all, it kind of reminded him of Lestallum in the beginning before they got all of the power-online, when the refugees came in thick and fast and the trash piled up just as much.

After a world of ruin, finding severed limbs in corners of shops with namecards and lists of nasty enchantments on it was not as off-putting as one would have assumed. At least they weren't _rotting_ , or belonging to people Prompto actually knew and was somewhat fond of (he would never forget finding that lovely Glaive girl's severed head in the shell of the Niff base at Hulldagh Pike – they'd bonded over a love of art, she made the most beautiful pastel pictures of dawns that Prompto had ever seen. She had been _splashed_ across the walls, her limbs in separate corners, the daemons hadn't even tried to turn her, they brutalised her instead, as if they knew he'd come looking).

When he'd explored every knook and cranny of the alleys, he slipped out of the _other_ doorway into what Tom called 'Muggle London', and found a much more familiar and comfortable world. One identical to his childhood actually.

A bustling metropolis in the early hours of the morning, business men and women rushing from subway stations to office blocks, pigeons pecking away at the pavements, mothers and pushchairs rushing to child-care centres or schools, homeless men and women sleeping where-ever was safe, or begging a coin or sandwich from passers by. Police officers, instead of Crownsguard, in florescent jackets instead of black uniforms, easy to be seen and found in case of emergency, patrolling the streets. Some of them were on the backs of a strange four-legged almost Spiracorn like creatures, docile and downright _friendly_ when Prompto came over to investigate, the officers laughing when he said he'd never seen one before and suggesting he stroke their noses (it looked like a fleshy wingless version of the Thestrals), some of them were in sleek black and white cars topped with flashing lights.

_This_ was a familiar world, and as he by passed a place that smelt thickly of coffee, he vowed to bring Ignis with him next time.

Somnus calmed down, he was less noisy, but no less demanding of affection. It was nice, Prompto decided, when he curled up with a book, to have his cat decide that his lap was the best place in the world to be.

His wand still spewed glittery bubbles every now and again, and Prompto realised that it only happened when he was happy or excited – he then vowed to take this knowledge to the grave.

Ignis found an opticians and got himself some fancy new glasses, he couldn't afford to get any of the extra enchantments they offered, though he vowed to find a means for the next year when they returned – those Wind Reading enchantments sounded very useful, as did the 'foe glass' spell. They stopped by Madam Malkin to get their uniforms colour coded. Ignis was less than impressed by the unflattering cut of his uniform, and the mustard yellow colour that he claimed made him look almost jaundiced – refusing to believe Prompto's exasperated 'everything looks good on you Iggy, shut up'. Prompto was even less pleased when he received his green robes from the portly little witch who.... there was a coldness about her as she handed them over, she hid it well, but he had been sensitive to disapproval for so long that he would _always_ be able to notice it no matter how well hidden it was.

Having read the books, Prompto knew why.

Slytherin seemed to have a well deserved reputation for producing unpleasant witches and wizards who took the ideas of pureblood supremacy to their extreme ends. He wondered if it had twigged to either Ignis or Gladio that he would essentially be stepping into a house filled with the children of murderers and terrorists, or if they _had_ realised, and trusted him to take care of himself, just as they had when he walked away into the darkness on his own, splitting up from them after they left Niflheim. Ignis went to Tenebrae, being that his family were Tenebraean. Gladio returned to Lucis. And Prompto scoured Niflheim in search of survivors – despite being raised Insomnian, he still _looked_ Niff enough that no one questioned him too closely as he tried to gather as many people as possible towards Lestallum and the remaining survivors outposts.

When Ignis handed him several lengths of scrap metal and a book on transfiguration, he knew the blond was well aware of what would be awaiting Prompto at the start of the school year.

He spent the last several days of the 'summer holidays' putting his wand to good use in transfiguring those scrap chunks of metal into the needed pieces for a much familiar handgun. It looked a bit wrong so when he did it again, he used a few other little bits and pieces to truly recreate the familiar handgun.

A pair of pound coins became the gilding to the barrel, a tiny ivory figurine Ignis found in a second hand shop became the comfortable, familiar white grip, and all those bits and pieces of scrap metal that he transfigured over and over and over again until he had managed to work the impurities out became the barrel and mechanisms.

It felt good to hold Death Penalty in his hands again.

He didn't know what Iggy and Gladio were going to do for weapons. Ignis pointedly refused all the blades they found within the shadowy Knockturn Alley, sniffing at the substandard metal, and the nasty enchantments upon the blades – he didn't want to risk them backlashing onto him or anyone else, and he wasn't sure if he could channel his magic through something that already held an enchantment. Not to mention.... they were somewhat certain several of the enchantments on them were _illegal_ in nature.

Going to the 'muggle' side didn't net them much either. Prompto found a photography shop, and both Gladio and Ignis gladly left him there for a few hours as he gushed about lenses and exposure and so many other things they didn't understand with the equally excited sales-assistant. They returned later, once Prompto had found the camera he wanted and already thrown down all of his money (including what he'd earned while in Knockturn picking through the pockets of those idiots who tried to mug him). Ignis looking disgruntled and empty handed while Gladio had several stainless steel poles duct-taped over his shoulder looking equally frustrated.

Ignis refused to use kitchen knives as weapons, they were for preparing _food_ , not _combat_. And nothing Gladio would say could budge him on the issue. Meanwhile, the Shield had come to the conclusion that it would just be _easier_ to follow Prompto's example and recreate the Zeidrich shield, and his Iron Duke. He would have liked to bring either his inherited Genji Blade, or the Apocalypse blade they picked up in the Menace Dungeons back, but he wasn't as confident in his ability to recreate the enchantments as Prompto was at putting together a decent gun.

In the end, Prompto was the only one who head a useable weapon by the day they were due to get onto the Hogwarts Express.

It was raining heavily outside, and Auror Tonks appeared in the fireplace to escort them to the train-station.

She laughed when she spotted them, “You lot are going to turn _so_ many heads,” she told them with a grin.

Gladio looked down at his Glaive uniform, and then back up at her, “Not as much as those dresses would have while we walked to the station,” he pointed out dryly, and she laughed again.

“True. If we were walking, they would have. But seriously guys, it'll take over half an hour to walk there, and in this weather? I'd rather not. Especially not hauling those trunks. We're getting the Knight Bus,” she explained with a grin, her hair short, spiky, and magenta today as she flicked her wand out and waved it at their luggage. “Feather Light charms, I'll cancel them once we've got you all squared away on the train. You guys got everything? Got your books, pets, underpants?” she teased with a grin.

“Yes, yes, and yes,” Prompto laughed, snapping a salute at her.

“Excellent. Right'o, we're off. Thanks Tom! I'll see ya later to settle up!” the auror called over to the toothless hunchback. He waved an arm, and the group left, the boys throwing their own thank yous, goodbyes, and bows as they left.

Somnus meowed angrily at the rain as they stepped out. Getting him into the carrier had involved an awful lot of bribery, and he was generally very unhappy with this sudden cold and wet development. Clarico wasn't too impressed either if the displeased hoot the snowy gave was any indication. Mocchi was too busy vibrating in Gladio's pocket to notice much of anything and probably wouldn't have cared much either – the puffeskein was very easily pleased.

Tonks held her wand out at the side of the road, “Watch yourselves lads, the Bus likes to make a hell of an entrance!” she called over her shoulder as with an ear-bursting BANG, a triple decker lopsided purple bus exploded into existence in front of them.

Both Somnus and Clarico did _not_ appreciate the noise, and after the three calmed their own heartbeats, they quickly went about calming the distressed animals as Tonks greeted the blushing pimply boy that stepped out to greet them. Very quickly the boys were all set up on the bus in squashy arm-chairs, their trunks stowed in a golden cage beneath the spiral staircase, and their respective pets set in their laps, and the bus lurching back into motion sending each of the chairs skidding across the floor.

For the record.

Prompto. Hated. _This_.

Gladio was having the time of his life, but both he and Ignis had their legs drawn up and their arms wrapped around their equally distressed pets as they went spinning across the bus as the countryside flashed past them with shuddering BANGS and flashing rain – sunshine – rain – cloud – sun – and then screeching to a stop so suddenly Ignis and Prompto's chairs crashed into one another.

“Corner ov'tha dell, Perranporth, Cornwall!” the teenage conductor read out with a thick east-end Insomnian accent, “THAT'S YOU, CRESSWELL!” he shouted up the stairs as a scowling middle-aged man in dishevelled robes came down.

“I heard you the first time!” the man snapped as he stomped off the bus, and with a grumpy mutter, the conductor closed the door behind them and with a BANG they were off again.

“Never again,” Prompto practically wailed once they fell off the bus and outside the train station.

“Sorry boys, but that's your way back after Hogwarts,” Tonks told them with little sympathy as she bid the pimply conductor a cheerful goodbye (apparently they had been housemates at Hogwarts, a year separated though). “Come on, up you get, we've got fifteen minutes to get you settled before the train leaves.”

Grumbling and unhappy, and rapidly getting soaked by the rain, the group made their way into the bustling train-station filled with people. Tonks casually leading them through the milling crowds towards platforms nine and ten, informing them to play it cool and just walk through the wall, it was an illusion. She didn't even break stride as she lead them through, and was swallowed by the brick-work.

Gladio grimaced but carried on walking, squeezing his eyes shut and ducking his head as he followed her. Ignis took a breath and followed suit, leaving Prompto to moan and jog forward in order to keep up with them.

The train was bright scarlet, and an ancient novelty _steam_ train. All around them were teenagers in robes and normal clothing, owls, cats, and adults swallowed by the billowing white steam looking like ghosts through the vapour. Tonks lead them towards the middle of the train explaining that in order to find their friends most student chose either the very back of the train – because it was furthest away from the Prefect cabins at the front, or the front of the train – because then they wouldn't be bothered by the rowdier students. The cabins in the middle were the most likely to be empty.

It was as she was helping them get their trunks into the overhead railings that Prompto saw them.

That familiar family of freckled faces he saw in the top-box of the newspaper, the same newspaper he had stolen and spent who knew how many hours obsessively picking through to find any other happenstance photos of Noct that were perhaps taken from the top box, maybe better quality. There were none. But he had made a point of memorising the other faces in there. That Noct had been sat between the two teenagers with no other adult presence within three seats suggested that they were friends of his, in fact, there had been no one save a bored looking light haired woman sat several rows back with a sneering light haired man and their excited teenage son that even remotely resembled Noct in that picture.

And then he saw Noct himself.

“What the hell?”

 


	5. Chapter 5

It happened in an instant.

Between one breath and the next Prompto saw their King, now a young Prince, and then he was plastered to the far wall of the train compartment as far away out of sight as possible.

Gladio stared at him in confusion.

Prompto flushed bright red, and Ignis chuckled into his hand, “Well, I believe that confirms it. Those pre-teen instincts of yours are still going strong,” the retainer teased lightly, and Prompto wanted to crawl into a hole and _die_ because of _course_ Ignis noticed his obsessive and carefully cultivated avoidance of Noctis and his attention for years until Prompto felt he was _worthy_ of it.

“The hell?” Gladio demanded.

The blond groaned, dropping his head into his hands, “Please. Don't ask,” he groaned as Ignis snickered politely and shook his head when the Shield looked at him demandingly.

The trio fell quiet as they heard voices next door.

“I might be seeing you all sooner than you think.”

“Why?”

“You'll see. Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it.... it's ' _classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it_ ', after all.”

“Yeah, I sort of wish I was back at Hogwarts this year.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“You're going to have an interesting year. I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it...”

They were talking about the Triwizard Tournament. Carefully, the three sidled up closer to the window to get a better look, the familiar red headed family were still half-stood on the platform, the otherhalf hanging out of the window nextdoor. Two young men in their mid twenties, one tall and lean with long red hair and a fang dangling from an earring, and a shorter slightly stockier red head with a fine dusting of stubble, short hair, and muscular shoulders and arms bearing a number of shiny burns up and down his freckled skin. Next to them stood their mother, her hair a darker red, plump, and kindly faced, wearing an old dress that had seen better days and many mendings.

Iggy hummed eyeing the two young men, and Prompto was tempted to tease him a little, almost as much as he was tempted to hide because Iggy on the prowl was _something_. The term 'man-eater' came to mind more than once.

“Tongue back in, Iggy,” Gladio quipped quietly, and grunted a little at the sharp jab he received just below his ribcage from the retainer.

“Pot, kettle,” he muttered softly as a whistle tore the air.

“Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs Weasley,” a girl broke into the conversation.

“Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs Weasley.” Prompto sucked in a sharp breath at the sound of Noct's voice, the accent was different, and it was just.... that little bit off in a way that age didn't account for, higher, softer, less smoky.... but it was still _him_.

“Oh, it was my pleasure dears,” the plump woman said with a glowing smile. “I'd invite you for Christmas, but.... well, I expect you're all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with.... one thing and another.”

“Mum!” one of the red headed boys cried in frustration, “What d'you three know that we don't?!”

“You'll find out this evening, I expect,” the mother said her smile wobbling a little with hilarity. “It's going to be very exciting – mind you, I'm very glad they've changed the rules – ”

“What rules?” all of the boys, Noct included, chorused together in various levels of curiosity and frustration.

“I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you... now, behave, won't you? _Won't_ you, Fred? And you, George?”

The train pistons hissed loudly, the air filling with a dull roar as the train began to pull forward.

“TELL US WHAT'S HAPPENING AT HOGWARTS! WHAT RULES ARE THEY CHANGING?!” one of the boys shouted out of the window as the train began to pick up speed, and the three red heads on the platform waved teasingly, grinning all the while.

“Well, that happened,” Gladio said as they all got themselves comfortable.

Or as comfortable as Prompto could get as he sat on his slightly trembling hands, his stomach twisting itself into knots as he jigged his knee up and down nervously. The last time he'd been on a train.... Ardyn.... Noct.... it had been the worst day of his life – he'd – that whole mess at the Gralean Labs.... Oh Astrals, he could feel his breath beginning to shake as he tried to force himself not to think about it.

“Breathe Prompto, breathe,” Ignis was suddenly there, kneeling in front of him, hands on his vibrating knees.

“I am breathing who says I'm not oh god Iggy you might not wanna stand there I think I'm gunna hurl and you are _literally_ in splatter radius ohmigosh,” the photographer babbled rapidly, inhaling deeply and exhaling. “I'm fine its fine we're good guys its all okay I mean it isn't like Ardyn's going to trick one of you into throwing me off _this_ train in the middle of a frozen hellscape heh – hehehehe,” he giggled as he wrapped his arms around himself, “Holyshit I _am_ freaking out. Why am I freaking out? I hunted daemons up at the Vesperpool on my own! I cleared the Myrlwoods so we could get the Queen's tomb back to Lestallum. A train ride shouldn't be freaking me out like this.”

“Understandable, really. It's okay. We're here. Ardyn's dead and gone. You're safe,” Gladio soothed, thumping down onto the seat next to him and throwing an arm around his shoulders, and grabbing one of Iggy's hands, squeezing it tightly, “ _Both_ of you,” he stressed, looking Ignis in the eye as well.

“It's stupid, I know it is,” the blond breathed, leg still jumping up and down as he stared down at Iggy's fingers on his knees. “But.... the things he did.... He – he made Noct think that I was... that _I_ was him, Ardyn. He was so _angry_. He chased me down the length of the whole train trying to – he blamed me for Luna's death. And I didn't, I didn't realise that Ardyn could trick people like that, I was so confused I thought – ” He shook his head, sealing his lips shut and bowing his head, “Fuck. I thought he hated me.”

Ignis shook his head, “Noct could never hate you, Prompto. Never.”

Gladio ruffled his hair, “I don't think anyone who's actually spent longer than twenty minutes with you could hate you,” he tried to tease.

Prompto's smile was thin and wavering before he slumped back against Gladio's arm, grasping at Iggy's hands, and Gladio's by proxy. “I don't want to be separated from you. Think you can sneak me into your dorms?”

Ignis sniffed, “Of course. And it shouldn't be too difficult to sneak into the Slytherin dormitories either if need be. Hufflepuff is known for their loyalty, you can come and stay with me. If anyone takes issue we can simply sleep outside like we used to, or occupy a section of flooring in Ravenclaw.”

“I'll arm-wrestle anyone who makes a fuss,” Gladio grinned, making Prompto snort a laugh despite himself.

“You'd throw them through a wall!” he objected.

“And they'd deserve it too. Relax, we won't leave you high and dry. Been through too much to let something as stupid as the colour on your clothes mess with that,” he declared tugging the blond over to rest their heads together.

“Indeed. And if anyone _does_ , then we shall simply ignore them as the fools they are,” the retainer declared primly, giving Prompto's hands a comforting squeeze. “Ambition isn't evil, Prompto. If it were, I dare say there would be no great musicians in the world, nor medical break-throughs.”

Prompto flushed and wriggled his hands free to cover his face, groaning, “It isn't – I just – I just wanted to be his friend. He seemed lonely, even when he was surrounded by all those people. I just.... Luna asked me to be there for him so....”

Gladio snorted, “Yeah, that's not just a _little_ bit ambitious given the circumstances, Chickabo.”

Prompto jerked and goggled at him, “ _Chickabo?!_ That's a new one, what the hell, Gladio?!” he spluttered in offended teenage dignity, making every single one of Gladio's instincts as an older brother perk up in trollish delight.

“Well, I could have called you ' _Butterball_ ' but I know you're sensitive about your weight, even though you could stand to gain a few pounds, in my opinion,” he added thoughtfully, eyeing his scrawny chocobo legs, remembering how Prompto's fondness for skinny-jeans often made him appear a little misshapen given his muscular core and reedy little runner's legs.

“B-b- _Butterball_?!”

Ignis hummed, “That _is_ cute. And it fits, especially with your hair. (“Iggy! Not you too!”) I've spent years trying to fatten you up, Prompto, you persist in simply adding laps to your morning run. It's quite vexing.”

“Teenagers shouldn't have three-percent body fat, Prompto,” Gladio pointed out even as he reached out and pinched some of the excess chub at Prompto's belly between his fingers. There wasn't much, he had been working very hard to shift it at this age and had almost reached his goal waist-size.

Anything Prompto tried to splutter in response to that was drowned out by Somnus making his presence known, _loudly_ , and his displeasure at being ignored very obvious.

“Close the door, Iggy, last thing we need is to chase the damn cat halfway down the train. Butterball might have a panic attack,” Gladio teased as the blond eeled himself free of the two and climbed up onto the seats to reach his cat.

“Butterball might kick you in the face in a second,” Prompto warned even as his fingers worked the catch of the cat-carrier, “Hey baby, sorry I didn't let you out sooner,” he cooed at the grumpy kitten as he heard Ignis slide the door shut. Somnus meowed _loudly_ in his face, and when he opened the little metal mesh to get him out – the kitten went with it, and nearly dropped to the floor if not for the blond's quick grab.

The rest of the train journey passed quietly, Ignis pointedly turning his nose up when the sweet-trolley showed up, and, not recognising any of the foods on offer, both Gladio and Prompto likewise opted to wait until dinner – wouldn't be the first time they'd gone without lunch. Or the last.

They reread their books while they travelled until there was a crash next-door and the sound of breaking glass.

Immediately the three were on their feet, and piling out into the corridor where a blond boy was entering into a compartment further down, followed by two huge enforcer types, laughing unpleasantly as glass tinkled to the floor of the door next to them – a moment before a girl's voice exclaimed “ _Ron!_ ” followed by a soft murmur causing the glass to freeze in mid-air and then shot back into its frame, melting into one whole and undamaged pane of glass.

The three exchanged glances before Gladio marched forward, and nudged the door open, “Everything alright in here?” he asked, looking around at the trio, knowing he probably cut something of an intimidating figure despite being fourteen, filling the entire doorway in his Glaive uniform. “Heard breaking glass. Anyone injured?” he continued, glancing to the brunette girl who had her wand out.

“Oh! Uhm, no. No, just – ” she glanced to the blue eyed red head who was staring up at him in surprise, “ – uhm.... An accident. We're alright.”

Gladio nodded shortly, “Alright, if you're sure. Sorry to disturb ya,” he grunted before shifting backwards and closing the door.

“...Who was _that_?” he heard the red head ask.

“I – I don't know. He looked a bit _old_ to be a student, do you think he's the new Defence Professor?” the young lady asked doubtfully.

“A bit too young, I think... Does Hogwarts allow transfer students?” they heard Noct ask curiously.

“I don't see why not, but I've never heard of it outside war-time. The last known group of transfers were during World War two when Beauxbatons was closed in response to the German occupation of France. A lot of the students either transferred to Illvermorny in America, Hogwarts, or to one of the Canadian schools,” the girl explained thoughtfully, “Do you think he maybe has something to do with what Mrs Weasley was talking about?”

“The uniform looked a little too muggle to be from any magic school,” Noctis pointed out quietly.

There was a prolonged moment of silence before, “Homeschooled until recently? Moved countries?” the girl suggested.

“Whatever. Stinking Malfoy, making it look like he knows everything and we don't....” the red headed boy snarled angrily.

Gladio exchanged a long look with both Ignis and Prompto, the three of them retreating back into their compartment. Well, they had a _name_ for the red head now, and the laughing blond boy. Shame they didn't have one for the girl or Noct.

The three got changed into their robes when a Prefect stuck their head in to warn them they would be arriving soon, and they needed to get changed. Thankfully, Somnus was practically dead to the world from playing, and only really woke up when Prompto had him secured away in his carrier, he mewled in betrayal before curling back up and going back to sleep.

Gladio had already begun to strain the seams of his robe's shoulders, much to their amusement as he grimaced and tried to flex some _give_ into the fabric. He looked pretty sharp in the blue and bronze uniform, even if he looked positively alien in the button up shirt – and exceptionally uncomfortable with it buttoned all the way up, tie on as well. Ignis looked as though he had stepped off the front cover of a fantasy fashion magazine, as always, complete with perfectly styled hair and gleaming spectacles. Prompto just felt a little like he was wearing a bedsheet, and probably looked like a bag of washing too.

The storm seemed to have followed them all the way from London unfortunately, the sky outside was foreboding and dark, rain hammering down onto the glass windows with a vengeance as the sky outside snarled with thunder, the occasional flash of lightning illuminating the foreboding forest just outside, and the unfamiliarly cultivated countryside.

Then they came to a stop, and saw the other students begin to disembark, wands held aloft with light igniting at the tips as the students sprinted from train to carriage. No one seemed to be bringing their trunks or pets _with_ them, so the trio exchanged glances, pulled their cloaks on over their uniforms, and joined the heaving tide of teenagers, keeping tight grip on one another's shoulders so they wouldn't be lost in the dark or the rain as they made for one of the empty carriages.

And it was, indeed, thankfully empty as they piled in. They still smelt as musty as a damp chocobo pen left derelict for years. But thankfully the journey up to the castle passed without incident, the carriage up ahead erupting in startled shrieks and nervous giggles as lightning and thunder overhead frightened the teenage girls within, but nothing else.

Though they definitely seemed to have missed _something_ in the entrance hall when they arrived, Professor McGonagall looked as though she could spit Killer Wasps as she directed students in various states of completely sodden to only mildly soggy into the Great Hall, the floor slick with puddles and the remains of broken waterballoons. Someone had a bad sense of humour, or a good one if you took some time to think about how a little more water wasn't going to hurt anyone on a night like this.

The three quickly followed her pointed finger, and joined the heaving tide of teenagers as they stepped into the chamber they'd only gotten a passing glimpse at the last time they came. And stared.

It was one thing to _read_ about the Great Hall of Hogwarts, about the impressive feats of magic that went into the castle's construction, the enchantments that recreated the sky outside that had yet to be replicated anywhere else but the most important of locations. _Hogwarts, a History_ had been part of their reading list, after all. But it was one thing to see the floating candles, the gleaming golden tableware, the stained glass windows overhead, the long house-tables, or the _ghosts_.

It was a fight for self control as they eyed the silvery apparitions milling through the uncaring, defenceless student body, their flowing robes and ghoulish countenance (the one at the Slytherin table was covered in silvery-dark grey _blood stains_ ) putting the three uncomfortably in mind of the Necromancers that _poured_ out of Daurell Caverns when the eternal night fell, and the Wraiths that haunted the streets of Niflheim where they once trod as citizens. Prompto shivered, and nudged Ignis towards an empty space at a near-by table, one furthest away from all of the silvery beings that were making his trigger fingers _itchy_.

The blonde girl they sat next to stared, blinked in bewilderment as her eyes lingered on their coloured ties, noticeably not the yellow and black that matched her own. “You.... You can't sit here?” she said, sounding confused and questioning as she looked between Prompto in his green, and Gladio in his blue.

“Eh? Why not?” the blond asked. There had never been any rules against sitting with people from other classes at his old school, heck, it was _encouraged_. Teenagers could get pointlessly competitive and he remembered one time a miniature riot breaking out between the students in 3B and 3C in his second year of highschool about their stands at the culture festival taking place that year. Three boys ended up in the medical wing with bloody noses and bruises. All of them got detention, and one got suspended for a week. The teachers tried to promote as much interschool unity as they possibly could in the hopes of counteracting that kind of competitive rivalry nonsense.

“You – you have to sit at your _own_ house table during feasts? Who _are_ you anyway?” she spluttered, looking between the two of them before turning to stare at Ignis with an obvious lack of recognition.

Prompto grinned, she looked to be about fourteen? Curly blonde hair in pigtails, pink apple cheeks, a few freckles, _dimples_ , she was absolutely precious. Aranea would have eaten her alive. With a _spoon_. Y'know. If she were, like, ten years older.

“I'm Prompto, this is Ignis, and the slab of beefcake is Gladio. What's your name?” he asked brightly, it was hard to be anxious about talking to a girl young enough to be your daughter if you were a particularly stupid teenager. That was a thought he clung to with both hands because, Six knew, his anxiety had been making a come back with a _vengeance_ since this deageing business.

“Hannah. Hannah Abbott. Nice to meet you, but you should _really_ go. You don't want to get into trouble on your first day,” she said, glancing nervously up to the head table where the teachers were all sat watching the students find their places amongst their peers. “The Sorting will start soon. Slytherins sit over there, and Ravenclaws are just there,” she explained, pointing to the two tables just on the otherside of the large walking aisle space – practically the other side of the room.

The three exchanged unhappy looks before reluctantly separating. Gladio clapping Ignis on the back as he went, smiling charmingly at the young lady and asking her to keep an eye out for their friend. She went rather pink around the edges, and nodded hesitantly. Ignis rolled his eyes in mild annoyance but didn't argue.

Prompto eyed the green and silver house, they seemed to have arranged themselves into some kind of hierarchy, but damn if he could figure it out. Shrugging a shoulder, he chose one of the few empty spaces as far away as possible from the blood-covered Wraith and sat himself down.

“I don't know you,” his neighbour announced as soon as she realised she wasn't alone. She was younger than little Miss Abbott, and even more doll-like. She eyed him like something unpleasant she'd stepped in, which was quite a feat for a twelve year old. Her uniform was neat, pressed, and immaculate, her silver platinum blonde hair pulled into a neat Tenebraean plait, her dragonfly green eyes flicking him up and down.

“Good eye,” he said with a grin, making her scowl at his lack of acceptable answer.

“Who _are_ you?” she demanded imperiously, and honestly, she sounded so much like Noct at his most bratty and petulant it was a real trial not to ruffle her hair and coo at her like he used to when his buddy got all huffy about losing on King's Knight.

He propped his head up on his elbow and grinned crookedly, “Prompto Argentum, and yourself, Princess?” he asked, only _semi_ -sarcastically. Just like it was hard to have anxiety over dealing with a fourteen year old, it was also somewhat hard to take offence to a bratty twelve year old. He was sure the novelty of meeting a child not irreparably scarred by by the hellscape they now lived in would wear off soon, and he would begin to find the behaviour annoying, but for now, he would take what amusement he could in it.

But the girl's eyes sharpened up almost immediately, “Argentum,” she echoed slowly, as if tasting the name, “That is a _Latin_ name,” she said as if it were supposed to mean something to him. He blinked as she eyed him carefully, specifically his hands which, at fourteen the last time, had been buttersoft but now were back on their way to their familiarly tough and gun-calloused state after many hours of combat training and drills with Gladio and Iggy. “Prompto is as well,” she continued, and then looked him dead in the eye. “....I am Astoria Greengrass. Welcome to Slytherin, Argentum,” she declared coolly.

“Ah, thank you?” he said, feeling as though he had quite missed something, but somehow managed to gain the girl's approval somehow?

She hummed, dismissing him as the doors of the Great Hall opened, and silence fell as every student twisted in place to watch as Professor McGonagall led a long line of eleven year olds up to the top of the Hall. Prompto made a soft sound of disbelief when he got a good look at them, they were practically half _drowned_ , and shivering with cold, huddled in a group against each other – all apart from the smallest of the boys, a little mousy haired brunet wearing what had to be their escort's coat as it entirely dwarfed him.

The moment that he saw them, he knew what was coming, and found his eyes sliding to the Hufflepuff table where Ignis adjusted his glasses, the light catching them and hiding the intensity of his anger. The fourteen year old was almost immediately on his feet, ignoring the hissing whispers it garnered as he drew his wand and started casting cleaning and drying charms over the gaggle of eleven year olds, clucking unhappily all the while.

“What is that boy _doing_?” Astoria hissed, “He's disrupting the Sorting Ceremony.”

Prompto grinned, “He's making sure no one gets sick. Iggy gets itchy when he doesn't have anyone to take care of,” the blond explained with a chuckle.

Professor McGonagall looked shocked at first, then angry, then she cast a look at the now much happier and more relaxed eleven year olds before sighing, and following suit with a grudging nod of acceptance. Prompto chuckled, and, before he could think more than three times about it – and every possible ramification under the sun – he got to his feet as well.

“Bee-ar-bee,” he quipped cheerfully to the young lady, winking as she gaped at him, and practically bounced over to the kiddies, drawing his own wand. Only, on top of the cleaning and the drying, he threw in a couple of the cosmetic charms he learned to style hair and neaten up clothing – no offence to the Ig, but his taste was a little suspect at times.

Even Gladio helped, though he didn't get up from where he was sat, conveniently right next to them. Instead he cast some of the fiddlier hair-charms for the girls that he had learned _specifically_ to impress Iris and Sania when they returned to Eos, Noct in tow.

In the silence of the Great Hall, under all the staring, the little kids couldn't do much more than whisper shy thank yous after they were seen to, some didn't say anything at all, which was cool too. Prompto had gotten good with the kids that didn't like to talk during the Darkness, hand-shakes, high-fives, fist-bumps, whatever, he gave and took all of them with a cheery grin and a wink before he gave Ignis his own high-five and returned to his seat once they were all dealt with.

“I can't _believe_ you did that,” Astoria hissed almost angrily.

He shrugged, “I can't believe a teacher let a bunch of eleven year olds nearly get hypothermia because she couldn't be bothered to draw a wand,” he retorted, quiet enough not to be heard by the teachers themselves, but definitely by a few of the students around them. He liked Prof McG, he did. But those kids looked _drowned_ , hell, the last time he'd seen someone that water logged was Iggy back in Alt- ...before.

And then he spotted Noct at the table of the red and gold students, Gryffindor, house of the Brave and Noble, staring straight at him with impossibly _green_ eyes.

His face burned, and it took every single scrap of his self-control not to duck down and hide under the table as he quickly looked away, shifting just so, and putting the rather heavy-set boy sat opposite him directly in his line of sight so he couldn't be seen. Astoria scoffed in disgust, turning her nose up in a mixture of confusion and scorn. When next he risked glancing at him, he was looking elsewhere.

He completely blanked out the frickin' _song_ the Sorting Hat burst into when he entered onto the centre stage, singing about each of the house values to the much more comfortable children. He just stared at his buddy, drinking in the differences and the similarities between then and now.

In the light of the Great Hall, he could _see_ him properly now. He sat between the red headed Ron and the brunette girl, inches shorter, and considerably thinner. He wasn't _emaciated_ , or anorexic, but he was definitely borderline in that way Prompto had only ever really seen in those small cut-off survivor outposts where food was scarce and tightly rationed for long periods of time. Enough to survive, but rarely anything to fill your belly, and certainly not for growing little boys and girls. That... didn't make sense given what they'd extrapolated from that one little photograph in the newspaper. If Noct had enough money, or his family had enough, to send him to something like a World Cup event, and even afford top box seats where the stars themselves would come to receive their reward, it stood to reason that there would definitely be no shortage of food in his life. And yet.

Noct looked almost doll-like compared to how he used to. No, less doll-like, it was more the comparison between a house cat and an alley cat. Both technically the same animal, but one was filled out and sleek, graceful and physically powerful for its size; the other was smaller, leaner, economical instead of graceful, and scrappy. That was actually a good word for him, this new Noctis he was studying. Scrappy. There was just something about him that put Prompto in mind of those refugee kids back in Lestallum, the ones they found on their own living on a Haven, surviving against the odds, the ones they had to put in quarantine before letting into the civilian section of the city – the ones that almost always, _inevitably_ , would come back to the Glaives as soon as they reached the required fifteen years of age. They had all argued long and hard about putting it at eighteen, but as was pointed out time and again, they needed the help, and Cor himself became a bodyguard for King Mor at _thirteen_ , and again for Prince Regis at _fifteen_.

“If you stare any harder, his head will catch fire,” Astoria quipped sourly beside him. Prompto started a little, and looked down at her, she rolled her eyes hard enough that he was surprised they didn't fall out, “Yes, it's the Boy-Who-Lived, believe me, he's a lot less impressive in person when he even deigns honour you with realising your existence,” she sneered.

“The _what_?” he found himself asking in sheer disbelief.

The Boy-Who-Lived. Noct?

The Chosen King who had to sacrifice all that he was in order to save the world?

_The Boy-Who-Lived_.

His mouth filled with vinegary saliva as his stomach turned over and _twisted_. Someone was playing a very cruel joke, and when he got his hands on them, he was going to hogtie them and drop them into the bottom half of Costlemark's Menace Dungeon, and lock the door behind him.

Astoria was staring at him as though he had grown a second head, “The _Boy-who-Lived_? Harry Potter, only known survivor of the killing curse? Vanquisher of the Dark Lord?” she repeated with increasing disbelief at the complete lack of recognition he gave any of those terms.

“Is Harry Potter his name then?” he asked curiously. It.... didn't really suit him, to be honest, but then again, that was just the Insomnian in him. Dave's name didn't really fit him either, in Prompto's opinion. Cindy's was as perfect and flawless as she herself, and he was like, ninety percent certain it was a shorthand anyway.

She gaped, “Why – yes. Yes, his name is Harry Potter. If you didn't know who he was, why were you _staring_?” she hissed, she did that a lot, a bit like that camping kettle he rummaged out of that knackered old house just North-East of Lestallum, at the Anak stables before reaching Meldacio.

Prompto scrambled for some kind of acceptable answer. Telling her that he looked like his dead bestfriend, his King, and Bahamut's Chosen One wasn't going to fly. However.

“I can admire a pretty face, can't I?” he demanded.

She spluttered, quickly ducking down when a few people looked her way, “There are plenty of _other_ faces, _better_ faces!” she whispered fiercely, glaring at him.

He sniffed dismissively, if his hopeless crush on Noct lasted from the age of ten to _thirty_ , then it was certainly not going to go away any time soon, magic be damned, “Yeah, but I like _that_ face.”

She actually put her face in her hands and sighed like Libertas did when confronted with thirteen year olds trying to use Cor's recruitment to the Crownsguard at thirteen as justification that they should be allowed into the Glaives. “Well, you'd better start looking elsewhere. Potter is quite firmly of the opinion that Slytherins are scum, and Malfoy does everything he can to make sure that doesn't change,” she complained bitterly.

That name again.

“Convenient, while we're on the subject: Which one is Malfoy?” he asked, peering down the length of the table for whomever looked the most like a Malfoy.

She looked up at him and then glowered dully down the table, “There, the pale pointy blond boy between the two living _boulders_. He's had a crush on Potter since first year, but he's too bloody _brain-damaged_ to talk to him like a reasonable human being, so he keeps picking fights. Boys are _stupid_ ,” she declared viciously, scowling bitterly at him with a very familiar look in her eye that had Prompto huffing a half-smile at her.

“And it doesn't help that you have a crush on him either,” he finished, watching as she stiffened and turned bright red.

“ _Shut up!_ ”

He lifted his hands peaceably, smiling wryly as she seethed at him, her pale cheeks brilliantly pink with embarrassment. Girls with crushes were not to be trifled with, as he had learned the hard way when Iris put him on his ass for teasing her about her baby-crush on Aranea that one time.

“Misery recognises misery, and misery loves company,” he quoted with a crooked grin as he very carefully reached out to pat her on the head, “At least you're in good company.”

“ _That._ Remains to be seen,” she snarled coldly before pointedly turning away and sticking her nose in the air as she ignored him in favour of the Sorting.

The two fell into silence as the last three children, Graham Pritchard (“ _Slytherin!_ ”), Orla Quirke ( _“Hufflepuff!_ ”), and Kevin Whitby (“ _Hufflepuff!_ ”), were sorted and the Hat was carried away. There was a brief moment of silence before the old geezer at the Head Table with a beard that was _almost_ as awesome as Ramuh's got to his feet wearing deep green robes with thousands of glittering golden stars and moons flickering across the fabric, catching the candle light as he spread his arms and smiled down at them all.

“I have only two words to say to you,” he said them, pleasant aged baritone echoing around the respectfully silent hall. “ _Tuck in_.”

“Hear, hear!” a voice from the Gryffindor table called as the golden plates in front of them suddenly _blossomed_ with food. Creamy pale mashed potato, what looked like garula steaks but was probably cow, peas that he thought he recalled Iggy calling 'Petty-is-poowah' (apparently the term came from another language entirely, mind-spinningly this place had well over two _hundred_ different languages, and those were just the commonly known ones in the 'First World', whatever that meant), and a hundred other things.

Part of him felt a sting of guilt as he loaded his plate up, thinking back to the food-shortages in Lestallum, in Meldacio, to Holly and Cindy who were getting thinner and thinner, to Libertas who looked frail and _old_ as he lost the chub he used to bear. They wouldn't begrudge him, not at all, Cindy tried to feed him up every time he dropped by Hammerhead, and Libertas refused to let him debrief without making sure he had a bowl of whatever was cooking in his hands before he even got to the command-room. Heaven help him if he skipped any kind of meal around Holly or Aranea, or lied about it. Even so, he still felt a little guilty.

Even if his stomach certainly didn't.

He was going to have to add a _lot_ more laps to his morning routine if this was how Hogwarts fed her students – how on earth there weren't more overweight kids in here he would never understand.

After dinner and dessert were demolished, it was a losing battle for the blond not to sit and near enough doze off then and there in his seat, warm, full, comfortable, Noct's light right _there_ near-by. He tried to listen to the announcements, he did, but he might as well have been marinating in a general feeling of laziness and comfort, so thick and woolly that he barely blinked at the utterly appalled reaction of the students when it was announced that there would be no inter-house Quidditch cup that year.

It was quickly torn away from him when the sky overheard split with a deafening rumble of thunder, and the doors of the Great Hall banged open.

Death Penalty was in his hands before he realised what was going on, and he _tripped_. Trying to jump to his feet and over the bench he was sat on, his feet caught on the stupidly impractical robes and tangled him, throwing him off, and down to the floor.

Astoria's hand snatched his arm, and he froze as lightning flashed overhead illuminating a face as gnarled and grizzled as the most seasoned of hunters from Meldacio. He tugged his hood back, revealing a long mane of dark grey hair, and a face that looked as though it had been carved from a fulgurian tree, something had taken a chunk out of his nose, his mouth twisted by scar tissue that stretched across his whole face, and to top it off, his left eye was fake. Bright electric blue and constantly spinning and whizzing around his skull even as his other eye, dark and beady like a Regaltrace's, fixed itself straight ahead.

There was a clunk with every step, and from his position on the floor, Prompto could see a coeurl footed peg leg swishing out from beneath waterlogged robes.

“Get up,” Astoria hissed quietly, “You're embarrassing us.”

Carefully, kicking his feet free of his robes as he did so, he twisted himself back into his seat. It made his stomach muscles twinge to do so in such a manner, but it didn't raise his head above the crowd, and it also allowed him to keep hold of his gun – and keep it out of sight, just in case.

Astoria's eyes lingered on it curiously, her eyes flicking up to Prompto's suspiciously, and with a grimace he dismissed it back into the Armiger – making her eyes practically bug out of her skull. Oh yeah, wandless magic wasn't exactly a done thing here, oops. He grinned as charmingly as he could and winked at her, holding a finger to his lips.

She stared at him with a complicated expression on her face until the headmaster pointedly cleared his throat up at the head table, dragging everyone's attention back to him, instead of the stranger currently tearing his way into a chicken leg.

“As I was saying,” the old man continued winningly, smiling at the students who were still staring at the stranger in transfixed horror. “We are to have the honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event which has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year.”

“You're JOKING!” exclaimed one of the students at the Gryffindor table, one of the freckled red heads, one of the twins.

All the tension that had been winding its way through the hall since the arrival of the stranger suddenly broke, like an over stressed rubberband as nearly everyone laughed, even the headmaster chuckling appreciatively at the interruption.

“I am _not_ joking, Mister Weasley. Though, now you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar – ”

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.

“Er – but maybe this is not the time.... no... Where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament.”

“I can't believe they're reviving that stupidity,” Astoria whispered, pale faced, and a mixture of frightened and furious. Prompto made an enquiring sound even as he glanced over to where Iggy was grumpily rearranging his tablewear – probably having snatched up the knives in order to attack the stranger, and Gladio was scowling and crackling his knuckles thoughtfully as he eyed the head table. Neither of them liked being surprised, Prompto was kind of used to it, and jumpy anyway, those two.... they got _twitchy_ whenever they got startled.

“Several centuries ago it was a dumb contest between the three nearest schools. They'd use a magic cup to select the best student in the school to compete against each other in three tasks designed to show feats of daring, magical skill, and intelligence. _Hundreds_ of our best and brightest _died_. To think the things they could have done with their lives if they hadn't been forced to compete and _die_ just to give their school a better reputation,” she sneered bitterly. “One of my great-great Aunts was forced to compete, she died in the first task when they had to somehow retrieve an enchanted ball of twine from a _manticore_. She was fifteen and already on her way to becoming a Potions Mistress without peer. I have her diaries. She thought she was onto a cure for Lycanthropy before the tournament killed her. She didn't even want to compete. An older student put her name in as a joke.”

“That's horrible,” Prompto whispered, angry on her behalf, and alarmed that someone could be selected for a tournament they didn't even enter themselves into. Surely... surely there was some _magical_ means that prevented that sort of thing, right?

Astoria sniffed angrily, listening with half an ear as the headmaster explained the game in much longer means, and went onto tell everyone that the other schools would be showing up in October, at 'Halloween', whatever that was.

“Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts, the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age – that is to say, seventeen years or older – will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration,” the headmaster explained, having to raise his voice over the sudden outrage of more than a few students who had just had their dreams of fame and fortune dashed. Astoria made a rude noise in the back of her throat and folded her arms over her plate petulantly. “I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts chamption. I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.”

He, Iggy, and Gladio were all thirty. Would the cup consider them, or did it only take _physical_ age into account?

“The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October, and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend ever courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!” he called before sitting down, sending a spike of nostalgia down Prompto's spine as he remembered that being one of Noct's favourite phrases – usually followed by his name as he got distracted by something and fell behind the others.

There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet, and swarmed towards the double doors into the Entrance Hall – many of them complaining viciously about the age requirement of the tournament.

Prompto spotted his friends over the milling students, and signed questioningly at them.

Gladio pulled a face and looked over at Ignis who was practically _surrounded_ by ankle-biters, and positively thrilled in that quiet way of his as the gaggle of eleven year olds practically clung to the hem of his robes.

Gladio signed 'House Bed' at him over the other students heads, and Prompto nodded. They would spend the night in each of their House dormitories tonight, he signed 'Breakfast Meeting Bird' when he caught his eye, and Gladio nodded. They'd meet up at the Ravenclaw table for breakfast tomorrow.

And, even though they were both certain he had been far too preoccupied by eleven year olds, Ignis signed confirmation at them as he was propelled out of the Great Hall by yellow robed students.

“I'll show you the way to the Slytherin Commons, but inside.... you're on your own,” Astoria warned him severely as she got to her feet and joined the tail-end of the students, apparently far too dignified to bother with all the pushing and jostling that came with everyone trying to get out of the doors at the same time.

Prompto chuckled, “On my own?” he echoed.

She nodded, “I have my own position to worry about, but....” she glanced at him, and something in her countenance thawed a little, “Slytherin House operates on a strict hierarchy based on blood purity, financial success, and magical power. Fortuitous name aside, Prompto Argentum, you are unknown. Your family line has never been heard of in the British Isles, and no one knows how much _money_ you have either. Not to mention that despite being a Fourth Year, your magical prowess is also unknown. Wandless magic aside,” she added darkly in an undertone before snapping her mouth shut and nudging him to one side, the two of them pausing on the stairwell to let a much older boy in green and silver pass – he eyed Prompto in a mixture of suspicion and scorn.

“So, territory fights?” he hazarded a guess, some of the Galahdians operated like that. They were very forth-right and pragmatic as a total, a lot of disagreements were resolved with simple fist-fights, winner take all. Not all of them though, it was only a small minority who thought might-made-right in the Eternal Night, and they often didn't last long.

She sniffed, “Of a sort. You are a Fourth Year, and unknown. Not to mention that _foolish_ attention grabbing stunt you pulled at the Sorting,” she eyed him with something like worry well hidden in her eyes, “You will need to _carve_ yourself a place within Slytherin's hierarchy. Or you may regret it. We're here.”

Prompto looked around himself at the empty corridor in the sub-levels of the castle, cold stone walls, and dark corners, and tarnished torch brackets. There was nothing save a somewhat familiar suit of armour stood to his right.

It looked a little like the statue of the Just in the park back in Insomnia, the huge one kneeling above the pond that had trailing curtains of ivy growing over it.

“The password is _Mermaid's Sigh_ ,” she declared pointedly to a blank wall that folded in on itself like the doorway to Diagon Alley. She looked over her shoulder at him, “Ask a prefect when it changes next. And... good luck.”

She walked away, inside without a backwards glance.

 


	6. Chapter 6

When he first stepped into the Slytherin Common Room, he immediately wondered how he got into the bottom half of Steyliff Grove, and then kicked himself for thinking something so stupid. They had left Eos behind via the grace of a Messenger. He doubted that a dissolving wall would see him walking back into the Menace Dungeon at the Vesperpool, or anyone being stupid enough to build a _school_ on top of it.

Still, what did that say? Steyliff was a _Solheim_ temple, did that mean Solheim was a relic of this culture, or the otherway around, or, it being a different world, or time, were they – oh he didn't know. He was thinking too much.

Time to face the music.

It was a pretty room, cold though. Large and rectangular, cold stone floors with thick plush green rugs, the walls decorated in paintings of dignified men and women in bejewelled finery that were more reminiscent of ancient Insomnian Nobility. A huge fireplace washed the room with heat and light, like sinking into a hot-bath as he walked in despite the chill of the stone lingering on his back. Huge floor to ceiling windows framed the fireplace, a large shield set above it bearing their house arms, the windows looking strange and dark, the light reflecting oddly off of them. All the furniture was black leather, or green suede, pillows of green and soft silvery grey littered the room, along with dark wooden furniture. As he looked up, he could see plants growing just above head height at where he _expected_ the ceiling to be, but instead as if out of the cracks in the wall, there were plants.

In front of the fireplace were two students, upper years, surrounded by the first years, giving them a lecture.

“ – looked down upon by the school at large. They will seek weakness in the Noble House of Slytherin, and thus all in-House grievances _remain._ In. House. We do not allow other houses to see our dirty laundry,” the young woman lectured coldly as she peered down her nose at the children. Her eyes caught sight of him and narrowed, “Know that the nail that stands up, gets struck down. Those that make themselves stand out, make themselves targets, distance yourselves accordingly from those who would bring shame to our House.”

She was talking about him, wasn't she? He grinned at her, and leaned against the sofa to listen in to what was probably an introductory lecture, folding his arms for lack of anything to do with them.

The boy glowered at him but ignored him in favour of the children, “Amongst the teachers, Professor Snape, our Head of House, will support us. The other teachers will not actively discriminate, but will look upon us with less favour than the others, ensure you do not put yourself in a position that sees you in the disadvantage, and if you do, ensure Professor Snape is at hand to mitigate the worst of the damage.

“Breakfast will be at half-past seven tomorrow morning, it will finish at half-past eight; lessons begin at nine. I will expect you to be down here, dressed, and ready at half-past seven. Those who are not here will be left behind. Don't bother bringing your text books, timetables will be handed out at breakfast, and you will be brought back here to collect your books before being taken to your first lesson. Curfew is at eight o'clock at night, lower years are expected to be in bed by nine o'clock, lights out at half past,” the young man explained shortly.

“Boys dormitories are to the right, girls to the left. Enchantments on the stairwells will prevent boys from accessing the girls' rooms. Your dormitories will ascend in order of year, first years on the first floor, second on the second, and onwards. You will find the Prefects, ourselves, and the others, on the top-most floors,” the girl explained coolly, gesturing to the two doorways on the right-side of the fireplace. “We are willing to answer any questions, for a price. Tonight is the only freebie you will have from us. Favours are currency here, you will learn to give and take. Now. Speak.”

The first years all exchanged nervous glances, before one young boy lifted a hand, twitching a little when the older girl jerked her chin in his direction, staring him down.

“I-is it true Professor Snape tests potions on students?” he asked in a hushed tone of scepticism and fear.

The girl scoffed, “Only on Gryffindors,” she dismissed, “Next.”

“Are there any maps of Hogwarts, to help us get to our lessons on time?” a girl asked quickly from the front of the pack.

“Don't be stupid,” the boy scoffed irritably, “Hogwarts is impossible to map due to its constantly shifting architecture. You will learn these rhythms quickly enough, and for the first two weeks the teachers will be forgiving of tardiness.”

“How is the hierarchy decided amongst year groups?” a boy demanded brattily, lifting his head and puffing his chest out.

The older girl's smile curled into something nasty and knife-like, “By purity of blood, what else?” she asked silkily. “Blood purity, power, political pull, and financial assets. Our own Professor Snape is half-blooded, but a Slytherin through and through to the core, powerful, intelligent, and cunning. He stands above us because he proves himself better than his filthy blood. You would do well to remember that _power_ is the be all and end all of hierarchy here. It may be magical power, political power, financial power. There is _only_ power, and those too weak to seize it. Remember those words, they were spoken by the greatest of us, and will serve you well in these years to come.”

“Our head of house is a mudblood?” a girl spluttered.

“Didn't you just hear her, she said he proved himself better than the other mudbloods!” another girl sneered, slapping the girl's arm harshly. The first girl hissed, rubbing her arm and glaring at her classmate.

The older girl laughed nastily, “Mudbloods crawl from every crack and orifice of this once great school. But you would do well to remember the power and purity of whose blood they are mixed with. Clearly their heritage shines through the filth that clogs their veins. Remember, little vipers, even those with filthy blood can wield a wand well enough to kill their betters.”

Prompto wrinkled his nose, Astrals, these people sounded like the most stuck up Niffs that set themselves up in little corners of the world trying to begin their own Fiefdoms – any man with a little leadership and an inflated sense of self-worth often tried things like that. In those early years when he and Ignis worked to rescue as many people from the daemon torn lands from Niflheim to Tenebrae, he found more than a few such 'outposts' in various states of horrific.

A few more questions were thrown at the two Prefects and answered in various tones of 'you're an idiot' by the pair, coloured extensively with racist rhetoric and scorn for the other houses. Eventually though, they announced that their freebie was done, and it was lights out soon, best they get their scrawny butts to their dormitories.

“You,” the girl called as the children moved away, “With me,” she commanded as she beckoned him over.

Shrugging a shoulder, swallowing down his dislike of her and her companion, telling himself that they were just kids who had been poisoned by their upbringing, they were literally just vomiting what they had been raised with. He pushed himself away from the sofa and made his way over, making sure to grin at her as he got closer.

“Your name?” she demanded coldly, eyes flicking him up and down, lingering on his blond hair, and his always slightly strangely coloured blue-purple eyes.

He chuckled, “Y'know, it's rude to demand someone's name without first offering your own, Miss,” he pointed out with a careless smile.

She bared her teeth at him in a 'friendly' smile, “Cute. Alright, I'll bite, smartass. Juliet Warrington, sixth year _Prefect_ ,” she stressed pointedly. “This is Montague, seventh year prefect. And yourself?” she asked mockingly.

“Prompto Argentum, Kingsglaive Captain,” he chirped cheerfully. It was somewhat out of character for him, but over the years he had come to understand the use of dick-waving when it came to certain situations. When titles were being waved around, it was always best to add your own to the mix – and while it was clear the two teenagers didn't know what a Kingsglaive was, the 'King' within the title and the 'Captain' that followed it made them suddenly a lot warier than they once were, judging by the way the young man unfolded his arms and stood up straight.

The girl narrowed her eyes, “Argentum. Unusual name, old,” she observed coolly before taking a breath, “You'll receive your tutoring time-table at breakfast tomorrow. Professor Snape informed us about your special circumstances before the start of the new year, if you need any help, look to your dormitory mates first. You won't be expected to know any of the course material just yet, but by the time Yule rolls up you had _better_ have caught up.”

He nodded, waving a hand, “No prob. As if Iggy would let me slack off,” he assured them with a grin.

Warrington sniffed, “Be that as it may, don't fall behind. You won't like the consequences. C'mon. I'll take you to your dorm,” she declared, gesturing at him to follow her.

Prompto followed after her, fingers sparking across the Armiger when Montague moved behind him, just that little too close for comfort. The sudden flicker of unknown light in the corridor had the younger boy's step flinching and he hesitated and fell back a little further to a more comfortable distance.

The stairwell was plain stone, with occasional torch brackets, and small alcoves with decorative silver bowls with greenery growing within, the doors were dark wood with simple old Solheim numerals on them (were they Solheim numerals here? Were they called something else? Did they – well, he _assumed_ they meant the same thing? He was so confused).

Warrington came to a stop at the 'IV' door and knocked. She didn't wait for a response, but did give the occupants five seconds to – he didn't know, hide whatever they were immediately doing before she opened the door.

“Your dorm,” she announced flatly. “Occupants from right to left, Nott, Zabini, Crabbe, Malfoy, Goyle. Gentlemen, this is Argentum. New student. Origins unknown, make him feel... _welcome_.”

That sounded ominous.

His fingers sparked on the edge of the Armiger.

Warrington left without a backwards glance, and Montague paused just long enough to close the door behind Prompto with a snap and a scowl. Leaving him in the large rectangular stone room with five unknown boys. The floor was stone, but each bed had a thick cushy green rug in front of it, four poster beds of dark wood and dark green with pale grey trimming, trunks at the foot, a large fireplace was set into the wall directly opposite the door, framed by ghostly blue-green windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. A door directly on the wall to his left was open, revealing a shower room, and on his right was another one that lead into a toilet.

Three beds were on each side of the room, and he could see his trunk set immediately on his right.

Next to him was the one Warrington introduced as Nott. He was a tall boy, dark and stringy, already beginning to grow whiskery thin facial hair around what seemed to be a perpetually downturned mouth, and hooded dark eyes. On the other-side of him in the final bed on the right was the one called Zabini. He was tall, thin, and lean with long graceful limbs and dark skin, hair, and eyes. Darker even than Takka, and no where near as friendly seeming. His hair was a strange echo of a Galahd-cut: A severe undercut and short on top, but without the customary braids the men tended to favour. He had already changed into pale, simple cut woollen robes of silvery blue, and was longing on top of his bed with a book and a judgemental sneer on his face.

Opposite was Crabbe, built like Libertas used to be before the first famine hit, only more fat and less slab muscle. He had curly wheat brown hair, and dull watery blue eyes in a round face. Prompto didn't want to think badly of the kid, but he had to admit, if only in the privacy of his own mind, he didn't look like the brightest bulb in the parking lot. But then, people thought that about Gladio too! He could very well be wrong!

Malfoy looked like the long-lost little brother of Ravus Nox Fleuret. More so even than Lunafreya did. Tall, thin, pale, and with a sharp pointed face and pale platinum blond hair, even the cool slightly scornful look on his face was nostalgically familiar. It was actually a little bit eerie.

And last, but not least, was the boy called Goyle. The shortest and roundest of everyone in the room, he had small dark eyes, big round red cheeks, and a familiar brunet pudding bowl-cut hair style. If it weren't for the hostile glower, Prompto would have called him cute, a bit like a hamster with those fluffy round cheeks.

He waved cheerfully, “S'up! Name's Prompto Argentum. Nice to meet you,” he greeted brightly, figuring that he should at least _try_ with them. Yeah, everything he'd seen so far turned his stomach so much he was honestly surprised he wasn't neck deep in a panic attack right now at being surrounded by racist teenagers that were the children of murderers and terrorists and raised with those same ideals and he didn't know how to _fix_ that! Plus, he _generally_ preferred knowing he wouldn't be pranked or attacked in his sleep (he still hadn't forgiven Gladio for replacing his hair gel with out of date lime jelly the night before he planned on making his move on Cindy – wasps had chased him through Lestallum _all_ day and he never got a chance to ask her out to dinner!).

“Argentum, huh?” the blond Malfoy echoed thoughtfully. This place had a real weird obsession with old Lucian naming traditions, huh? Was he going to get that weird reaction every time? Were Iggy and Gladdy getting it too? Well, when someone was brave enough to try _talking_ to Gladio who was still built like a brick wall, even now, and without the artfully tousled long hair to soften him up, just a severe military style undercut that made him look scarier.

“Yep. That's me,” he agreed. Carefully nudging thoughts about his late foster parents, Besithia, and his decision to hike Ravatogh barefoot if it meant he could forswear any connection to the psychotic scientist.

“Welcome to Slytherin House,” the blond – there was no other word for it – _oozed_ as he stepped forward with a smirk curling on his thin pale lips. “Draco Malfoy. You'll find that _some_ families are better than others, Argentum. You wouldn't want to go making friends with the wrong sort in these parts. I can help you there,” he drawled suggestively, probably hoping to sound helpful as he stretched out a hand, but instead just came off as mildly demanding and a little threatening. And suggestive. If he waggled his eyebrows, it would have _definitely_ been a come on.

He found himself snickering a little, “Thanks for the _offer_ , but I think I can figure out the 'wrong' sort for myself,” he pointed out with a grin. He still moved to shake hands, because it was polite, and he actually _wasn't_ trying to pick a fight, but young Malfoy went brilliantly pink and angrily yanked his hand away with a sneer.

“Your mistake, Argentum. The Malfoy family – ” Oh no, family rant, time to nip this in the bid. He didn't have all night. And he didn't particularly care either. He'd read everything he needed to know about the Malfoy family and their.... dubious history. Not the sort of people he wanted to deal with in all honesty.

“- were either stupid enough to willingly follow a Dark Lord, or too weak to fight him off,” he pointed out reasonably, with a wry half-smile. Probably taking more amusement than he should have in the sharp inhales from the watching teenagers and the look of absolute outrage that appeared on the fourteen year old's face.

Somnus chose that exact moment to express his displeasure at being left behind on the train, me-yowling as best he could given his young age, but at surprising volume from within his cat carrier set atop Prompto's trunk.

He immediately turned away from the kid, dismissing him out of hand as he went to his pet, “Aw, hey buddy, you alright in there? Lemme get you out,” he cooed as the kitten practically yelled at him, batting at his hand when he reached in to pull him out with folded back ears and feline fury. Ahh-hahah, he must have been pissed off about being left behind on the train – just like Noct would have been, what a cutie.

“You – ” Malfoy suddenly yelped as there was a clatter of metal behind him.

Prompto turned, and screeched at the sight of metal plated armour in front of him, _reaching out to him_ – he flipped his shit.

He jumped backwards with a shriek of 'DAEMON', and stumbled over his trunk, flipping end over end – fingers skittering with light as he reached into the Armiger and promptly cracked his head on the cold stone floor as he fell _off_ the bed, and landed on his front.

Zabini burst out laughing, along with a few of the other boys.

“It's just a suit of armour!” Nott cackled, bent over and having to grip one of the posts of his bed to stay on his feet.

“Not my fault! Do you have _any_ idea how easy it is for daemons to possess suits of armour?!” Prompto complained as he sat up, furiously rubbing both hands on his skull, his eyes watering from the pain as he squinted up at the polished suit of armour as it gripped Malfoy's wrist, the blond gripping a wand and looking frustrated as the armour waggled a chiding finger at him.

“Daemons?” Zabini echoed, smirking with a raised eyebrow.

Prompto grumbled as he pushed himself up to his feet, still aggressively rubbing at the back of his head, “Yeah. You guys don't have them? I know there were none mentioned in the Care texts but, well, given how you're supposed to just _destroy_ them I can kinda understand, but you guys made nice with frickin' Goblins and domesticated those evil looking horses outside so....” he shrugged a little helplessly before squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing a little more aggressively. What he wouldn't give for Shiva's gentle touch on his head right now, that was going to form into one hell of a chocobo egg on the back of his skull. “Uh, closest thing I can think of would be a dementor, if it could y'know, change form, use magic, dissolve into shadow, and couldn't physically stand sunlight. Like, literally dies in sunlight.”

“Those things don't exist,” Nott scoffed.

Prompto rolled his head and stared at him, “Then I guess the last ten years of my life have been a hallucination,” he retorted coolly.

“Or brain damage,” Zabini chimed in dryly.

Prompto actually laughed at that, quick, and witty, he might actually like this kid.

“What evil horses outside?” Crabbe asked, his voice shockingly soft and almost sweet sounding for a boy so huge. Okay, that kid just went up three notches on the adorable scale – and Prompto darn well knew his scale was a little skewed after ten years of darkness and famine, all these little bright eyed rollypolly kids with their attitude problems were _adorable_.

“The ones pulling the carriages, Thestrals I think they're called,” he said with a wave of his hand, watching as the armour dropped Malfoy's wrist, the blond grumping and putting it away under what was possibly the sternest expression Prompto had ever seen from an inanimate object (and he was pretty sure Aranea's dropship was sentient if the way it always seemed to time accidents to happen around Prompto, like the time he got his shirt caught in a closing door and it ripped clean off him much to Aranea's hilarity).

Zabini eyed him consideringly, “Supposedly you can only see those if you've seen death.”

Prompto grimaced and scooped up Somnus as the kitten tottered over on the bedsheets to demand attention. Suddenly this was no where near as amusing as it had been before hand, he didn't want to talk about it, even think about it. About Lunafreya's light vanishing on the alter of the Tidemother, about the Magitek soldiers – how many _hundreds_ of them had the four of them killed? He never counted, never wanted to. Besithia. Astrals, Ardyn. How many times did he shoot Ardyn in the head during those ten years whenever he showed his slimy face to mock them? How many civilians, men, women, and children, had he been just that hair too late to save in the darkness? Those brave scrappy Glaives and Hunters who worked hard, played hard, who laughed in the face of the darkness and bared their teeth just a little too much when they smiled because they refused to let it defeat them.

He stopped counting the number of people he buried long ago.

He never bothered to count the number he burned.

“Seen a bit. Yeah. Subject change!” he exclaimed, forcing a grin onto his face, baring his teeth just a little too much as he pumped a fist. “Heard one of the Prefects downstairs say that Prof Snape tests potions on students, ain't that dangerous?” he asked curiously as he gently dropped Somnus on the bed and opened his trunk.

“Only for the Gryffindors,” Nott said with a snort, echoing what the girl downstairs said.

Prompto wrinkled his nose as he took out his messenger bag and hung it over one of his posts ready for tomorrow, “That's kind of what I mean. What's he doing testing them on students full stop.”

“How else are we supposed to know they work?” Crabbe asked sounding genuinely confused.

The Glaive paused, and turned that over in his brain, “....huh. I suppose it _is_ magic, can't really lab test it like we used to..... I guess it makes sense, but still, discriminating against one particular house?” If even the teachers were dealing with this stupid segregation bullshit he was going to have to talk to Iggy about snatching up Noct and booking it for Salisbury and trying to get Umbra to take them back to Eos.

Malfoy scoffed, glaring at him from his bed between Crabbe and Goyle, “You're _new here_ , you'll understand how much of a stain on this school Gryffindor house is soon enough.”

Prompto arched an eyebrow at him, “Sounds like someone's jealous,” he observed, and was both amused and exasperated when the blond turned brilliantly pink again and spluttered.

“I AM NOT!”

He made a mental note to never introduce this guy to Gladio. Big brother instincts versus easily wound up would be a recipe for _disaster_. Gladio might end up leaving him duct-taped to a chair somewhere, like he did to Noct on his twentieth when they went out drinking for the first, and last, time (Ignis wouldn't let them go without a chaperone after that incident).

Zabini snorted and closed his book, “Stop winding him up, Argentum. Malfoy, stop rising to it so easily,” he scolded lazily as he flicked his wand, ghostly letters and numbers drifting in front of him as he did so, “We've got ten minutes until lights out, and I'd like to actually get some sleep before class.”

“Oh, sure, sorry about that,” Prompto said as he quickly went about digging out his PJs.

Nott craned his head over and frowned, “What is _that_?”

The blond looked down, “My Kingsglaive uniform. Why?”

“Kingsglaive, is that your old school?” he asked curiously.

Prompto snorted about to tell him that no, it was actually the offensive arm of the Lucian army, only to remember where he was. “Uh, sure. Me, Iggy, and Gladio were Kingsglaive,” he explained gently setting aside his uniform and tossing his washbag on top of it before dragging out his night clothes. A white T-shirt with the familiar Assassin's Creed crest on it (he saw it and – yeah), and a pair of red cotton drawstrings.

“What was it like?” Nott asked curiously as he got his own night clothes out, a sleeping robe similar to Zabini in dark green.

Prompto laughed a little nervously, “Brutal. Had to pass extensive combat training for Crownsguard first, Kingsglaive is on another level.” He pulled out a change of uniform for tomorrow, under clothes, basic stationary, and his work-out stuff before stowing his Glaive uniform back inside.

“So, you're primarily focused on combat magic?” Zabini chimed in from the otherside of Nott.

Prompto nodded, “Yep. Iggy was the best at it though, but he's the best at like _everything_. Even when he went blind for ages he was still better than everyone.”

“Which one was he?” Zabini asked lightly.

“Hufflepuff.”

Malfoy dropped his washbag, “The _Hufflepuff_?!” he exclaimed in disbelief.

Prompto gave him a sour look, “Uh, _yeah_. Duh. If there's _anyone_ you don't wanna piss off, it's Iggy. He'll serve you your own entrails on a plate, lightly sautéed in a creamy mushroom sauce. And it'll smell so _good_. Oh man, I'm hungry again,” he whined sadly, glancing at Somnus who seemed to have decided that his nicely folded up uniform on his trunk was absolutely the place he had to sleep tonight. Adorable.

“I'll believe that when I see it,” Nott scoffed doubtfully.

“Your funeral, bud,” Prompto told him dryly before heading into the bathroom to sort himself out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter – there could have been so much in there, but I opted against it. Too much too soon, y'know? But yeah. Bros are in Hogwarts, they've found Noct, they're ALREADY making waves, and Prompto just rejected Malfoy in exactly the same way that Harry did in his first year. That's gotta sting. 
> 
> Also, quick reminder to you guys, I'm still new to the AO3 tagging game, if you can think of any tags I should add, don't be shy about offering them. I can't use them if I don't know they exist, or are even tropes I should be aware of.


	7. Chapter 7

He woke at first light, its touch still so alien that the faintest change immediately brought him back to the waking world, his fingers pressing against the cool crystalline tingle of the Armiger as his vision adjusted to the gloom of the room. He slept without drawing his bed-hangings, unable to tolerate being unable to observe his surroundings, the pre-dawn light was weak, barely penetrating the blackened windows, casting eerie shifting ribbons of light refracted through water across the walls.

Somnus had abandoned his position on top of Prompto's trunk, and was now curled up next to his face in the hallow between his neck and shoulder, sleeping soundly.

Annoyingly, despite the early hour and his desire to possibly sleep in, he was _wide awake_. Ten years of having restricted time to travel, followed by having strict deadlines to get from place to place, and before that twelve years of early morning runs had made him an early-bird by default and sheer self-preservation. He'd gone running a lot in London, but it had never been at _dawn_. They had been in an unknown location, surrounded by unknown people, in a city none of them knew or trusted, for Iggy's peace of mind, Prompto waited until he was awake and caffeinated before going on his usual run.

It would be nice to see the sunrise again. He.... didn't think he'd seen it since.... the end.

He got up, Somnus complaining quietly as he was disturbed, only to settle down almost immediately again when Prompto left him in the divot that his head made on his pillow. That old Lestallum practicality had him straightening his bedding out of reflex – he was there only now and again, usually only for a night at a time, he didn't get his own room, he stayed in the barracks with the other Hunters and Glaives. Which meant his bed wasn't really his, but whoever got to it first that day. It was considered good manners to straighten it out when you left.

Bed made, he got dressed. Sweats, t-shirt, and his sturdy Glaive boots, by far the most comfortable pair of footware he'd ever worn in his _life_. They were a bit heavy for _running_ shoes, but better he get used to and comfortable with the weight for combat situations than go into a fight slower and more clumsy than he was accustomed to.

The others were all sleeping, their hangings drawn. That creepy suit of armour was stood silently in its alcove next to the door, and it made absolutely no move to stop him as he cautiously left the room – which, y'know, good. He didn't want to get into trouble with his dorm-mates or anyone else when he panic shrieked and shot it up. The common room was kind of eerie as he made his way out, silent and empty, covered with the familiar shifting light refractions, but without the fireplace to cast a warmer light throughout the room.

It was a good thing he had developed a fantastic sense of direction after a decade of dungeon diving, finding his way back to the entrance hall was cake, definitely easier than finding his way inside _Pitioss_. He had been a bit nervous going in there on his own, but he _needed_ the training, and Noct said it was a good place to practice as apart from a couple of bumps and bruises he hadn't been hurt. After the multiple failures, Prompto was tempted to return to Niflheim, find the Crystal, and crawl his way in there just to smack his King for not MENTIONING THE GLOWING DEATH SPIKES!

The doors outside were heavier than he expected, but he was eventually able to shoulder one of them open enough to get outside, thank the Astrals for Glaive boots because they had a grip that just wouldn't quit!

Given the time, about five am, and the size in question, he probably had time to do maybe _one_ lap around the entirety of the lake? Maybe. However, there was a convenient football pitch not too far away that he could do as many laps as he wanted to around and it would only take him ten minutes to dash back to the castle when he was done.

Decision made, he began his laps around the pitch. Taking in the multiple decked out stands in the house colours, the black and white neutral tower in the middle that he assumed the teachers or the ref would sit in, and the three hoops set sixty feet up in the air. Must be that sport mentioned in the paper, Quidditch. There had been hoops in some of the pictures there too.

It was pleasant. The rising sun, the cool wind, the smells of green and nature and water all around him, the sound of _birdsong_. He'd forgotten what that sounded like. Gladio joined him not long after his third lap, and the two of them worked in companionable silence until their internal clocks declared it coming up ten past seven. Time to get back to their dormitories, showered, and dressed ready to get to breakfast.

None of the other Slytherins were awake by the time that Prompto got back, a little later than intended because he couldn't remember _exactly_ which faceless wall it had been he needed to say the password to on this corridor, so he'd ended up saying it to _all_ of them until he got the right one. Somnus was still snoozing on his pillow, though his tie was on the bed now, indicating that his cat hadn't been sleeping the _whole_ time he was out and about. He should really look into getting him some toys.

He had just finished in the bathroom, having taken a scalding hot shower because aw _yeah!_ Hot water! And styled his hair ready for the day using those charms he'd read about in the 'Teen Witch Weekly' magazine (hey he was curious and it was the only magazine available at the Leaky), when the others seemingly peeled themselves out of bed. Malfoy shuffled past him in silver slippers, blond hair at all angles, looking generally tired and angry at the world, Crabbe was still sleeping, Goyle was stepping out of the toilets brushing his hair, Nott was muttering under his breath as he dug his washbag and uniform out of his trunk, and Zabini was perfectly awake and following in Malfoy's wake into the bathroom, nodding politely as he passed.

“Mornin' everyone,” Prompto chirped gleefully, receiving filthy looks from all those currently awake.

“Salazar's balls, don't tell me you're a morning person,” Nott begged desperately.

Prompto grinned, “Does it really count as morning anymore when you've been up for three hours already?” he asked wonderingly, making the boy groan in disgust.

“Three _hours_? What were you _doing_?!” he demanded in horror.

“Pumpin' some iron, gettin' them _gains_ ,” he bragged, flexing pointedly. Most of the time there wasn't much to see, but much like Noct his muscle was deceptive. While the King was just that little too well-fed by Iggy to really _show_ his muscle, Prompto was just that little too lean for it to be seen without tensing. Which he did now. Arms and stomach.

“I have no idea what that me- bloody hell!” Nott yelped, eyes widening.

“You could grind potion ingredients on those,” Zabini chimed in absently from behind them in tones of surprise.

Prompto preened a little, it took a long time, and a lot of effort, but he was quite proud of the way he looked, and he damn well knew he looked good. Took a lot longer than he was willing to admit to figure that out (and a bit of asskicking on Aranea's part, and a couple of 'night's out' at Gladio's insistence, one night stands were _not_ his thing but it was flattering to have people come onto him pretty much all night, even _with_ Gladio only three seats away with his own gaggle of admirers – and somewhat alarming when he realised that his actually had more people on several occasions).

Malfoy made an odd wheezing snort from his place beside Zabini, having come over to see what all the fuss was and gotten an eyeful.

“What's that?” Zabini asked, the only one not completely lost to hormones (Malfoy), confusion (Goyle), outright horror (Nott), or unconscious (Crabbe), pointing to Prompto's hand.

He glanced down and paused, his barcode was on full display.

He stared at it for a moment before mustering a strained smile, “Eh, family thing,” he dismissed. Most everyone in Lestallum knew he was born in Niflheim, hell, the first time it came up was when a Niflheim woman took one look at him and started screaming about Besithia and magitek troopers. Apparently, despite his cells diversifying, he still looked similar enough to that _asshole_ that he could be recognised by people that knew him when he was younger, back when his face was plastered almost everywhere for successfully slaying Shiva and 'saving Niflheim from eternal winter'. Cor had to intervene on that incident when it looked like it would get nasty, stating that Prompto had been raised in Lucis, that he _personally_ had taken that child from Niflheim and brought him there, and then trained him to be Noct's bodyguard. Anyone who thought Prompto a traitor or a monster, would lay that at his feet as well because he had Cor's complete trust and backing. Over the years, when discrimination against Niflheim refugees was at its worst in the beginning, he wore his bar-code openly to show that he wasn't ashamed of his origins, that there was nothing wrong with Niflheim. It worked to a degree, people would see it and they would stop, they would think twice, and it reassured a lot of those refugees that it could get better. After all, if an escaped Magitek experiment could later go on to be the King of Lucis' bestfriend, there was hope for them to at least become accepted citizens.

Eventually it just became such a non-issue he didn't notice when he wore it or not.

“Looks muggle,” Nott observed from the other-side.

Prompto shrugged, “Subject change please,” he declared briskly making a beeline for his bed and his clothing.

“You're not a mudblood are you?” Nott demanded suddenly.

Astrals, he was _not_ in the mood for this. The morning had looked so bright and promising. All shiny new and pleasant.

He whipped around to glare at the teenager, “Oh there's a _lot_ worse than _mud_ in my veins. And I'll thank you to stop bothering me about it,” he snapped, Aranea's words lingering in the back of his head ' _get loud, get aggressive, get in their faces, if they're smart they'll back off. Don't show weakness, that's as good as painting a target on your soft spots_ '.

Nott lifted his hands and took a step back, “Geez, sore spot, huh?”

Prompto could feel his lip curling with distaste, the expression practically alien to him. He thought about saying something but instead returned to getting dressed, roughly dismissing the teenager from his attention. Right now, he just wanted to get out of here and find Ignis and Gladio. His hands went through the motions of doing his tye automatically before he shrugged into his robe, dragged on, laced up, and belted his boots on over his trousers, grabbed his bag, and stomped out of the dormitory without a backwards glance, leaving an awkward strained silence in his wake.

Astoria was in the Common room with several other students, some of which being first years.

“Oh good, you're not dead,” she said by way of greeting, it was enough to almost immediately evaporate his bad mood.

He snorted, “It'll take more than a room of teenagers to kill me,” he told her with certainty. If an entire base of Magitek soldiers and daemons couldn't manage it, he doubted that anything in this castle could. “Malfoy tried, but the suit of armour by the door stopped him,” he added.

She slapped a hand to her face, “He activated the – that flobberworm brained idiot,” she hissed.

Prompto chuckled, remembering back to his Care text of just what a flobberworm was, “Yeah. Bit of a surprise to have one of them appear behind me,” he admitted as he began to lead the way out of the Common Room. “Back home, they have a bad habit of being possessed. I nearly shot it full of holes,” he explained with an embarrassed laugh as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Astoria hummed, “Possessed armour? Are you sure it wasn't simply enchanted?” she asked sceptically.

Enchanted? Well, that did sound similar to what the few Glaives who remembered the Fall said about the Old Wall awakening. He remembered the giant statues dotted around the city, how small he felt beneath them, how they both filled him with awe and trepidation. He never knew they were part of the Old Wall, even though Noct treated them with a strange mixture of reverence and dislike, growing up he always thought they were just decorative monuments despite _knowing_ that monuments held the spirits of whom they depicted. It was why the Iron Giants were so powerful, and feared. They were the corrupted spirits of Knights from ages past. He had always been nervous around the large statues because of that, yet also fairly certain that there were no daemons large enough or strong enough to penetrate and control what he assumed at the time were solid stone.

He chuckled weakly, “Very.”

She sniffed idly as they climbed the final staircase and stepped into the large marble entrance hall. The twelve year old girl eyed him speculatively from one side, but didn't say anything even when he glanced at her in confusion. The Great Hall was just beginning to fill with the first of the 'early risers' amongst the students, Prompto could already see Gladio making his way through a protein heavy breakfast, Ignis at the foot of the Hufflepuff table looking as immaculate as always, and absolutely drowning in first years. Prompto grinned at the sight. Ignis _loved_ children. Absolutely adored them.

Noct wasn't down yet.

“Potter won't be showing his face until the last half an hour,” Astoria informed him dryly as she delicately steered him to their seats at the Slytherin table.

He flushed, he wasn't that obvious, was he?

“No. You're not. I'm just not _stupid_ ,” the little girl told him primly as she sat herself down and reached for the toast. “I don't see the appeal in all honesty,” she continued, not looking at him as she collected a wedge of butter from the dish and set it on the corner of her plate. “Yes he has the Black bone-structure, and the Potter hair, but his mudblood mother's blood shows itself far too clearly. He has soft features, his nose begs for character and has none. Though I suppose his eye-colour is nice enough,” she admitted grudgingly as she finished spreading some kind of red fruit jam onto her toast and bit into it.

Prompto tried not to laugh as he listened to her. It was both hilarious, and slightly sad to hear a little girl judging another human being like a chocobo at auction, he half expected her to start talking about his teeth and the state of his legs next.

“I like his magic,” he explained gently, “It's nice. Warm.”

She set her knife and fork down with a harsh clatter, head jerking up before she looked around at him, “I beg your pardon, Argentum?” she demanded sharply.

He blinked at her, wondering what he'd done wrong now.

“I – uh – I just said that I – I like his magic? It feels nice, y'know? Warm. Like sunlight. What? Why are you looking at me like that?” he demanded nervously. Had he revealed something he shouldn't have? Crossed some social boundary? Were they not supposed to talk about other people's magic? None of the other books had mentioned the kind of magic that people had, none except a small handful of fiction books that Gladio had practically devoured and spent an afternoon idly theorising with both him and Ignis about what that could mean for the rest of them. Gladio's magic felt steady, like rocks and mountains, and green things growing in the earth. A counterpoint to the Roc tattoo on his back, but he didn't mind. He said he quite appreciated the mountain comparison. Ignis felt like the sky, at times warm and pleasant, a light drizzle, a forgiving breeze, at others a raging storm of lightning and ice, the kind that could drown villages, or set fire to bushland left untended for too long. Prompto.... He couldn't sense himself, not really. He knew he had changed in the years of Darkness, since he wrapped himself in Noct's magic whole-heart-and-soul. Ignis likened it to mist, something soft. Gladio was a little more poetic and said moonlight.

“You can sense magic? From halfway across the Great Hall?” the twelve year old demanded.

Prompto shrugged helplessly, “Can't – can't you?” he asked plaintively.

She closed her eyes slowly and in a hilarious parody of Monica at her most resigned, placed a single hand on her face. “No. Argentum. I cannot. _No one_ can. Magical sensitivity is intensely rare,” she told him shortly.

“Oh.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Iggy and Gladdy can do it too though. So it can't be all that special. Libertas could, his little sister Crowe was pretty famous for it before she died too. I think _all_ the Glaives could – Uh,” he trailed off as she stared at him with wide eyes.

“How... _many_ of your 'Glaives' are there?” she asked slowly.

He ran the numbers, “Uh... before the Fall there were like.... three hundred. I think we lost about two thirds of that during. Then Altissia happened and the Darkness came. Uh... We recruited heavily from the Hunters, they were old Crownsguard from before the Wall so they were compatible with the King's magic and.... Towards the end.... We had fifty up in Cleigne, a hundred working out of Lestallum, another fifty at Cape Caem, seventy up at Hammerhead, fifty in Galdin Quay, Wiz's had thirty, that old Niff base at Saxholm had a hundred.... Then there were the ones up at the Crown City, though they had the Marshal and he counts for like two hundred just by himself,” he reeled off absently, ignorant to the way her face was slowly losing colour. “Then there were the nomads who went from Haven to Haven, the ones that went off to Niflheim and Tenebrae and Altissia to look for survivors after taking the Vow.... I think there were about eight-hundred at the end. Maybe a few more, I don't know if they found anyone in Niflheim or Tenebrae to swear in, they might have.”

“And... all of them... can sense magic?” she asked weakly.

He shrugged again, “Yeah.” It was kind of the only way to access the Armiger.

She opened her mouth, and then suddenly snapped it shut again and returned to her breakfast with an unusual degree of focus. Prompto tilted his head in confusion until he caught sight of the teacher making his way down the line of students, brusquely handing out timetables. This must be the mysterious Professor Snape he'd heard so much about last night.

He decided immediately that he didn't like him. His magic felt like darkness, like rot and death. That wasn't always a bad thing, rotting could lead to fertilization and enrichment, the breaking down of the old was the birth of the new. But this? The feeling that he got from this man's magic? It was a rot that poisoned. That festered and destroyed. Slowly in the dark spaces between the cracks.

Dark eyes met, and held his with cold intensity.

He wanted to say that the last time he'd been looked at with that degree of coldness had been when he met Besithia for the first time. But that would be a lie. His... 'father' had been cold, but he had still _felt_ , even if it had been scorn and disgust for a 'failed' experiment (though given how he had destroyed _how many_ of his so called successful experiments, Prompto did have to wonder by what measure he called anything a 'success'). But really.... truly.... it had been when he looked into the eyes of Ifrit at the steps to the Citadel, and saw _nothing_. A god of fire with a heart less than ice. He wondered if he felt even a fraction of the relief and hope for peace that Shiva did when she finally laid her lover to rest at long, _long_ last.

Had.... that really only been a few days ago?

Heh..... He was getting too used to this 'End of the World' nonsense as Cid put it.

“Argentum,” the teacher greeted, not quite sneering, but still sounding disapproving as his eyes lingered on his hair.

“Morning. Are you Professor Snape then?” he asked cheerfully, figuring that, regardless of how _icky_ the man's magic felt, he should at least show a teacher respect. Iggy would have so many words to say if he didn't, and he really didn't want to get scolded like a little kid.

“Indeed. I have been informed of your unique circumstances. Your timetable has been arranged accordingly. I will _expect_ you to catch up quickly...” the man drawled pointedly, pausing every now and again as he spoke softly with a surprising degree of menace for a school teacher. “As of the _moment_ , you have not been signed up for any electives. Once you have caught up with your age-mates, you will enter into your chosen electives. Do _not_ slack off. You carry the Slytherin name now. And all of our pride with it,” he warned as he handed over a sheet of parchment, and then another one to Astoria with a curt ' _Greengrass_ ', before sweeping off.

Prompto wrinkled his nose once he was sure the man had moved a sufficient distance away, “Sheesh, drama queen,” he complained under his breath.

“And yet, he's one of the restrained ones,” the girl muttered as she looked through her class list, wrinkling her nose at a few of them.

History of Magic with the Ravenclaws first thing, so he'd get to hang out with Gladio. Awesome. After that was tutoring for the rest of the day, he assumed it would be a little like study hall, or maybe cram school. Who knew.

Tuesday was Potions with the Gryffindors first thing, followed by more tutoring, and then Transfiguration with the Gryffindors – that.... that was a whole day with Noct! Apart from the whole tutoring thing in the middle. He also had Astronomy at midnight in the evening in the North Tower, that sounded super cool. Wednesday he got the first two periods off because sleep, followed by Defence Against the Dark Arts with the Hufflepuffs – yay, he'd finally get a class with Iggy! Followed by another Transfiguration class with the Gryffindors. Okay, Wednesday was usually the worst day of the week, but this sounded _amazing_. Thursday morning was tutoring first, then Potions with Noct, and Charms with Iggy. Aaaand, wrapping up an awesome sounding week was History of Magic with Gladio, followed by Defence Against the Dark Arts with the Ig-meister, and Charms, again with the Igster. No Noct that day, but hey, Friday with his buds! Awesome!

“Man, this timetable _rocks!_ ” he exclaimed with an excited grin.

Astoria gave him a dry look of mild amusement, “Tell me that after you finish a week, Argentum,” she told him as she slipped her timetable into her bag and finished up her tea. “I'm going back to collect my books. Try not to embarrass us _too_ much,” she said with sly amusement.

He grinned, “Hey! I would _never!_ I'm far too awesome!”

Looking back, he really shouldn't have jinxed himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took WAY too long trying to design a coherent class-timetable for GoF. OTL regret.


	8. Chapter 8

It had been more than a _decade_ since he'd last been in school.

It was still a little surreal to him to be packing books into a satchel and following after a group of teenagers in matching uniforms, climbing staircases to classrooms, and trying not to flinch at the moving paintings on the wall. Trying to pretend to be a normal fourteen year old boy. Trying to convince himself that they were little more than flat-screens on the wall, TVs, computers, whatever. But he'd walked into too many empty houses and found too many Daemon Walls that nearly killed him in the night in what he had at first assumed was a safe place to catch an hour with a haven too far away to hike to.

He both pitied and was grateful that it was Gladio who had to traverse these painting-covered hallways to get to and from his dormitories. He was far steadier and less prone to panic lashing out than Prompto was, and wouldn't destroy anything if he got a jump-scare. Speaking of Gladio: there he was, trailing at the back of a group of teenagers in blue and bronze robes, towering head and shoulders above and half a foot wider than even the tallest of them.

“Buddy!” he found himself cheering as he pounced, leaping bodily at his friend happily, careless as to the fact it had only been an hour since they last saw each other while running laps.

Gladio grunted in surprise, arms coming up to catch him, easily taking his weight without even taking a step backwards. He didn't even drop his bag. Prompto froze as the brunet laughed in bewildered amusement below him. “Nice to see you too, Butterball,” the Shield greeted, squeezing him a little as he laughed.

The Slytherin grinned a little weakly, feeling his face beginning to flush in embarrassment and confusion. He... what – _why_ did he just jump on Gladio like that? He'd _never_ done that before. Spanking Noct was one thing, they were bestfriends and prone to manhandling each other now and again, besides the spanking thing was an inside joke. He had always been a little too nervous of both Ignis and Gladio to get handsy with them in the beginning, and then as their journey continued, it just became some kind of respectful taboo thing to keep his hands to himself unless they needed help. So.... He knew why he _absolutely never_ jumped on someone; he still, somewhere deep inside, thought of himself as the fat kid that Noct tried to help up to his feet but couldn't because he was too damn big. He still thought of himself as too much, too big, _corpulent._ He didn't jump on people, scared that he would hurt them, that he would be too much; he didn't hug them, as if he still stank of the greasy fast-food dinner he ate the night before.

So why.... did he suddenly decide that the only greeting he had to give to Gladio was a flying tackle?

“Uh, you gunna put me down, big guy?” he asked curiously, wriggling his feet a little bit when he realised the Shield hadn't actually put him down yet.

Gladio hummed, and then grinned, “Nah. Less chance of you getting into trouble there,” he declared playfully even as he shifted his bag and then got a hand under Prompto's knee and casually jolted him into the air, rolling a shoulder and catching him again as he turned – settling him perfectly in a piggy-back ride.

Astrals. Prompto covered his face with both hands, “Omg, Gladdy, seriously?”

“Did you just say 'omg' in reality?” one of the Ravenclaws demanded in mixed tones of horror and hilarity.

“Yep. He does that,” Gladio confirmed, his voice coloured in amusement. Prompto buried his face in the back of the Shield's hair, which wasn't nearly the kind of protection it should have been given his short hair and severe undercut, whining in mortification – could he _put him down already?_ The Shield squeezed his knee gently, “We're gunna be late if we don't hurry.”

“Uh, History of Magic is up another flight of stairs. Can you carry....” a girl's voice trailed off.

“He weighs about as much as a butterfly's fart,” Gladdy stated and Prompto shot upright in outrage.

“Oi! You take that back, meat head!” he blurted in offended dignity.

“Nope. Told ya yesterday y'needed to put some weight on. I stand by my description,” he announced blithely, _clearly_ winding him up, but Astrals damnit, Prompto just _could not_ leave it alone! Nettled unlike anything he'd experienced before, he wriggled and latched both hands onto Gladio's short hair.

“Not everyone can be built like a fridge, y'know! I worked hard for this body!” he objected stringently.

“Too much. There's barely anything left,” Gladio laughed, tugging his hair free and tipping his head back to nudge him playfully. He wasn't being serious. Prompto pouted down at him before sighing and slumping, dropping both arms down the Shield's chest and propping his chin up on his head as the group made their way to class.

“You two were friends before Hogwarts, right?” one of the Ravenclaw girls asked, peering up at them, her cheeks flushing slightly when she looked at Gladio, which, Prompto had to bite the inside of his cheek over because poor Gladdy. Forever the teenage heart-throb, despite being _thirty_.

Gladio snorted, “Yeah. Iggy too. He went to Hufflepuff.”

“Never there was a Puff fluffier than Iggy,” Prompto added, attempting to be poetic, but well, he sucked at poetry. That was why he stuck to photography and left the wordsmithing to Gladio.

“That was bad and you should feel bad,” the Shield groaned, “And I don't think you could call Iggy 'fluffy' by any stretch of the imagination.”

“You ever seen him with a kid? Mama Ignis is in the house,” the blond laughed.

Gladio snorted, “I was there when he raised _Noctis_ , remember? Hey, did Noct ever tell you the time they tore the training rooms apart when Iggy tried to force feed him broccoli?”

“No!” Prompto gasped gleefully, “Did they really?!”

Gladio nodded, “Oh yeah. _Bisected_ the Mystic armour in the corner, you know the one. Noct thought he could hide on top of the shield at the north end, Ignis just launched his spear at the standard above it and the whole thing dropped on top of him. He nearly broke his leg when he hit the ground. Cor had to break it up. It was amazing,” he gushed excitedly. “I'm surprised he never told you.”

“Man, me too! I'd have totally – ah, well that explains why. I was _terrified_ of meeting you two. If I thought Iggy was going to chase me around the training room trying to fatten me up I'd have run for Tenebrae before you'd gotten me in the Citadel,” he laughed as they finally reached what he assumed was the History of Magic classroom.

Gladio let him slide down onto his feet before quite purposefully putting him in a headlock and mussing his hair.

“No! My perfectly groomed hair! Revenge!” he exclaimed, trying to grab at the brunet's own hair.

“If you two can keep your hands off each other for five minutes,” Zabini drawled lazily, “We're here. You can keep your mating displays for later.”

Gladio snorted, “I'm engaged, thanks. Sania would dribble my ass from Insomnia to Ravatogh if I cheated on her,” he stated with a grin as he tossed his head back, keeping it out of Prompto's clawing reach.

“The grease monkey goddess of Hammerhead is the only girl for me,” he grunted, a well rehearsed line, still true though. If Cindy were even half-way interested in men he'd take a chance, but the lesbian vibes were strong with that one. So he set her up with Aranea instead, and the two were happy as gaiatoads in mud. Or they were for however long they were dating, he was fairly sure they decided to just stick with being casual fuck-buddies these days as they were far too focused on their respective tasks for relationships.

“Sounds disgusting. Come on,” Zabini said before vanishing back into the classroom. Prompto gave up on trying to mess with Gladio's hair, pouting as he wriggled out of the headlock and tried to pat and reshape his hair back into its former glory. There were no definable rules about natural hair colours or styles that he could find on any of their paperwork, so he decided that he would be styling his hair like usual instead of looking flat and limp like when he first met -

that was a ghost.

He paused in the doorway of the classroom as he realised the teacher at the front of the room, already droning a lecture without waiting for them all to even sit down, never mind get in the room, was in fact dead.

He exchanged a look with Gladio. This.... was going to be a long lesson.

 

* * *

 

Despite almost _all_ of their classmates either falling asleep or becoming otherwise engaged neither Prompto or Gladio were able to follow suit, or relax their guard. The two of them were hyperaware of the Professor and his every move. On the brightside it was an incredibly informative lesson on Goblin warrior culture, mining society, and craft, and how the wizards took advantage of all of that after the last war to essentially force the Goblins into a kind of servitude at Gringotts, and why they would forever be resentful of humanity no matter _how_ polite you were to them.

After History was double tutoring, followed by lunch, and then more tutoring while their year-mates went off for their class electives. The three world-travellers would be going into a small room just off the entrance hall where they would be given instruction by one Madam Hooch, a Professor who evidentially had a lot of free time on her hands.

“Iggy!” Prompto cheered, spotting their well put together friend as he meticulously spelled every speck of filth off his hands as he followed after a small handful of his housemates and several Gryffindors into the entrance hall.

“Morning, did you sleep well?” the retainer asked, abandoning them without a backwards glance as he immediately moved towards the pair of Glaives. He wasted no time in tutting and reaching up to correct Gladio's shirt collar once he got close enough. The Amicitia didn't even roll his eyes, just tilted his chin to give the Scientia better access.

“Fine. Entwhistle's a talker, but apparently he's usually better with his silencing charms, so I don't think it'll be a problem,” Gladio said as Ignis finished with him and turned to fuss over Prompto's hair.

The blond grinned at his friend, “There's a creepy suit of armour in my dorm, but it stopped Malfoy from trying to curse me so it's alright,” he chirped sunnily, making Ignis pause.

“Malfoy?” Gladio asked, “Which one was that?” he rumbled as he turned to eye the passing Slytherins with dark eyes.

“Baby Ravus bookended by Libertas two-point-oh, and two-point-five,” he reeled off shamelessly.

Gladio hummed, watching the group of Slytherins as several of them made their way outside with narrowed eyes. Iggy pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and watched their progress as well, light reflecting ominously off his spectacles. Then Prompto remembered who he was talking to. The two primary protectors of his Prince and King, who as teenagers had been ready and willing _always_ to throw down against anyone for any slight. Were they all their normal thirty year old selves there wouldn't be a problem, they were mature enough to ignore silly things like that, especially coming from dumbass teenagers with more balls than brains. But right now they were fourteen, and these people were not Crown City citizens, and that was a very _predatory_ gleam in both of their eyes as they watched the blond leave.

He carefully slid between them, finger up and wagging, “No! Bad Iggy, bad Gladdy! No!” he scolded, taking the pair by surprise.

“Don't know what you're talking about,” Gladio deflected, looking away even as he swatted at Prompto's finger.

“Indeed. Merely studying your housemates, there's no harm in that,” Ignis declared lightly, looking in the opposite direction to Gladio even as he adjusted his glasses again, unnecessarily.

No wonder Noct was such a terrible liar if these were his only working examples outside his father and the council as he grew up.

“I mean it guys, they're just dumb kids. I can handle it.” Probably. He figured he could handle it. It wasn't like these kids were the second coming of Cor the Immortal or something. “Let's not exacerbate things.” These two had never had to deal with public school teenagers – Noct's position kind of protected them from that kind of stubborn image-enforcing arrogance that a lot of guys got into in their teens.

The two hummed, in exactly the same manner, and Prompto threw his hands up in exasperation.

Their tutoring sessions were overseen by a griffin eyed woman with short feathered grey hair and a no-nonsense attitude and strangely cut robes called Madam Hooch, not 'Professor'. She explained that she was traditionally the flying instructor and the referee for the school's Quidditch games, but otherwise spent much of her time as a professional Quidditch trainer off-site. She had been called in to catch them up to fourth year material and didn't see a reason not to, now, pay attention, feel free to ask questions and this will be as painless and swift as possible.

She took them through the basic cultural information they needed to know once it became apparent that, despite their decidedly Pureblood names, they were completely ignorant of how the 'British' did things. Why all the secrecy, _how_ the secrecy, what to do if exposed, exceptions to the rules, etc. Followed by information, at Iggy's request, on this Pureblood-Halfblood-Muggleborn nonsense they'd all been hearing about non-stop since they came to this weird and wonderful world. What followed was an hour of historical, economical, and political bullshit combined with psychology and magical theory as the three listened, questioned, and then protested – _**hotly**_.

Yeah, it wasn't their world, but that didn't mean that wrong wasn't _wrong_ , or that they didn't care!

Madam Hooch was looking rather frazzled by the time she released them for lunch, and the trio walked away grumbling. Ignis in particular looking decidedly vexed.

“This is why Lucis operates as a Monarchy,” he growled as they sat down at the Hufflepuff table. “Yes, there may have always been political jockeying for positions, but they could be unceremoniously dismissed – just as the monarchs themselves can should the Astrals or the Oracles believe them ill-suited.”

“So, Lady Lunafreya could have stopped Noct from becoming King?” Prompto asked, curious despite himself. He had been Noct's relief and escape from his royal duties and heritage. He had respected that and not bothered him with the thousand and one questions he had boiling under his tongue, no matter how curious he was. This was all news to him!

Gladio nodded, dragging a dish of mashed potato towards himself, “Yep. S'how the first Queen was crowned despite having an older brother. The Oracle of the age deemed him too selfish and close-minded to become King, and gave her blessing to the sister instead,” he explained as half of that mashed potato dish ended up on his plate before being returned.

“The Rogue, right?” Prompto asked.

“The Just, actually,” Ignis corrected idly as he wordlessly passed Gladio the dish of sausages without the Shield even having to look at him meaningfully. “She, hmm, what is a polite – ah, her _hardware_ didn't match her _software_. She was known as a benevolent King in her day, but all of her private memoirs and personal musings use female pronouns, and even those of her wife and closest friends follow suit when referencing her.”

Prompto grinned, a trans Queen, huh?

“Can't help but think the whole LGBTA-plus movement would have had a _lot_ more push if that were more known,” he pointed out with a grin, he had marched in the Pride parades when the subject of marriage equality was brought up. He personally had never doubted King Regis, and he knew from Noctis that his father fully approved of the motion to allow same-sex marriage, but it was the cabinet that took issue with it – with how insular Insomnia had been, there were concerns that they would eventually have population problems, especially with the older generations taking longer to pass, and the younger generations being unwilling to bring children into the current political climate of a country at war. Noct hadn't been allowed to march due to a whole slew of political stuff, but the second time the parade came up he donned a disguise and went with him, his face painted, and his hair covered with a rainbow wig – no one had recognised him.

Ignis hummed, “Something to bare in mind for when we return.”

They ate in silence, none of them daring to touch the unspoken elephant in the room as they snuck covert glances at both Ignis, who ignored them with dignity, and Potter, who didn't notice.

Prompto broke first.

“Iggy, please....” he trailed off plaintively. They had been waiting for _hours_ now.

The King's retainer sighed, setting his knife and fork down on his plate with a sad little clink before folding his hands in his lap. “....He doesn't remember us. Lucis. Insomnia. Lunafreya. Nothing,” he announced calmly, only the careful rigid set of his shoulders revealing how he truly felt. “It is, however, _definitely_ him. There is no mistaking the Lucis Caelum magicks in such close quarters.”

“Did you talk to him?” Gladio asked heavily.

He shook his head, “No. I was partnered with the head of the class, delightful boy by the rather unfortunate name of Neville Longbottom, a Gryffindor.” Which meant he'd been sharing a dormitory with Noct for years. “He'd heard nothing about us, or our home. And even when I pitched in order to be heard, Noctis didn't react. He even asked me what a Kingsglaive was, and whether it had anything to do with the strange uniform we had been wearing on the train.”

Prompto swallowed hard. What did this mean for them? For returning to Eos, would they? What about Noct? They couldn't live without him, that they were even there proved it. But Noct – Potter didn't know them, they were strangers, and he was a child. He didn't even know their names more than likely. He was so conflicted. One part said to leave the kid alone, his just being alive was enough to support them, he deserved this second chance, this hard won peace. Another said _no_ , they had to make him remember, that a second chance was meaningless unless _all_ of them remembered, that it wasn't a second chance at all without him. Another said he was still worth knowing, that Harry was a person worth knowing on his own merit and.... and they should still protect him regardless, that he was.... kind of Noct's legacy to them.

He went with the last one, even though his head told him to choose the first option, and his heart _screamed_ at him for the second. “Well, he seems like a good kid. Let's give him a chance,” he said optimistically, “His magic is the same, his personality can't be far off?” he suggested brightly.

“He's a kid in a bad position, that's reason enough to watch out for him,” Gladio grunted, reaching for the gravy, his decision apparently reached – he would be protecting his King regardless of whether or not his King remembered wearing a crown or not.

“Indeed,” Ignis agreed, sounding a lot more enthusiastic than he looked.

And that was seemingly that. They talked quietly about how they would approach this new Noctis, this Harry Potter, and about how they would try to make friends. They decided that Ignis would probably be best for that given the apparent rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin, and the fact that Gladio looked rather intimidating.

It.... hurt, just a little bit, to think that Noct would reject him for wearing green. Especially considering that he had worn his green school tie the day they made friends the first time in Insomnia as well.

 

* * *

 

Tutoring passed quickly. They were back with Madam Hooch and this time Iggy lead the charge on learning appropriate magical etiquette. Prompto was horrified, Gladio nostalgically resigned as the Royal Retainer furiously took notes on how to avoid offending the magical elite. Too late, Prompto thought with mixed horror and hilarity, he'd already offended Malfoy, and probably everyone else in Slytherin. Oh well.

For almost _two hours_ Iggy kept the subject on manners and decorum, which, interestingly lead into Duelling etiquette and where fighting fell into it all. Gladio then seized the reins on the conversation and steered it towards 'what about swords?', and they learned about Lords, Knights, and Courts and how they all fit into magical society and how old 'medieval' style weaponry was only really applicable to them. It was actually pretty fascinating once they got Iggy off the subject of tableware and appropriate napkin decorations for various occasions, especially when they realised that every Glaive classed as a Knight due to the magic sharing from their 'Lord'. And given how one could tell the power of a Lord by however many Knights they could support, they were very smug indeed to realise that the Lucis Caelum line had very much earned their titles as 'Kings' over 'Lords'.

A Lord could perhaps support a Court of between ten and twenty if he or she were particularly powerful.

Even while maintaining a city sized magical barrier, King Regis had the power to share with five _hundred_ Glaives.

“I wonder if there _is_ such a thing as a Magical King,” Prompto mused as they left their tiny tutoring chamber and joined the first few early waiting students queuing for dinner.

Ignis hummed, “I.... shouldn't think so,” he admitted at length, “Remember how Auror Tonks was confused when we mentioned serving his Majesty?”

“Yeah,” Gladio grunted as he leaned back against the wall, arms folded grumpily with narrowed eyes, “Said it was a new one. Didn't believe us,” he complained.

“Regardless, it is quite clear that Noctis and his Majesty are both Lords by these people's concepts,” Ignis dismissed, adjusting his glasses thoughtfully, “Light Lords at that. Meaning that Prompto, you are in a particularly difficult spot.”

He snorted without humour, “Tell me about it.”

According to the Court Lore Madam Hooch was explaining, he was the Knight of a powerful Light Lord and up to his neck in the children of Knights belonging to what was unmistakably a Dark Lord – well, a self-proclaimed Dark Lord, it was somewhat up for debate as to whether or not he actually willingly shared his magic with his followers. No wonder the suit of armour in the corner had been so quick to get involved when Malfoy went for his wand – if the boy's magic was wrapped up in the vow his father made, then there would have been something of a clash. And Prompto wouldn't be the one coming out of it worse off, _that_ was for sure.

“I'll show you how to get into the Hufflepuff dormitories after dinner,” Ignis declared firmly.

“Same. Though I hope you like riddles,” Gladio added in with a grimace. He personally quite liked riddles, he and Ignis used to use them in competitions when they were younger before Iggy decided to try for combat training. But all the riddles he knew were _useless_ in this strange world, with all of its unusual animals and customs and history. It pissed him the hell off when he gave it a go after his morning run and the fucking thing wouldn't open up, he ended up having to wait for a student to come out the otherway before sliding in. If he'd known riddles would have ended up being such a large part of his life, he'd have bought that book of them he spotted in London's Waterstones bookshop.

“Weasley! Hey, Weasley!”

Prompto groaned at the sound of Malfoy's voice calling across the steadily filling Entrance Hall. Thankfully the three of them were fairly tall even if they were only fourteen, Gladio was rapidly approaching six foot already, and were able to peer over a lot of the collective heads to spot Malfoy flanked by Crabbe and Goyle stood in front of Noct- Harry and his two friends from the train, the brunette girl and the red headed boy.

“What?” the red head demanded shortly, his face set in an ugly expression of dislike.

“Your dad's in the paper, Weasley!” Malfoy announced loudly, practically brandishing a copy of the newspaper for everyone around them to see. “Listen to this!

_FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC  
It seems as though the Ministry of Magic's troubles are not yet at an end. Recent under fire for its poor crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup, and still unable to account for the disappearance of one of its witches, the Ministry was plunged into fresh embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office._

Malfoy looked up, his pale eyes glittering unpleasantly as he leered at the steadily flushing red head. “Imagine them not even getting his name right, Weasley, it's almost as though he's a complete nonentity, isn't it?” he crowed nastily.

Ignis tutted under his breath as the unpleasant young man continued to read the paper for everyone to hear, “What on earth are people teaching their children these days?” he complained disapprovingly. “The boy is clearly born to some privilege, he should be better behaved than this.”

Prompto snorted, “He's a rich kid, Iggy. Not everyone gets held to standards like the Lucis Caelums' and associates,” he pointed out quietly, “I've met more than a few just like him. Just you watch, this'll get physical before it's over,” he muttered, nodding to young Ron Weasley who was looking more and more murderous with every passing word, Noctis beside him with a cold stony expression on his face, and the brunette girl's face darkening with dislike as she glared at the blond Slytherin.

Six. No wonder Noct- _Harry_ didn't like Slytherins if this was the kind of bullshit he'd been seeing from them over the last four years. Hell, Prompto had only been here twenty-four hours and he was fed up with them.

“And there's a picture, Weasley!” the blond fourteen year old finished, flipping the paper over and holding it up. “A picture of your parents outside their house – if you can _call_ it a house!” The ramshackle building was.... Prompto had seen worse. Not very often, but he had. If magic weren't involved he'd eat his Glaive boots, because there was no way the structure would continue to stand without it, but he had actually seen worse. It looked kind of homely in fact, and the couple stood in front of it had their arms around each other and looked very loving. “Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she?”

Ignis made a sound like an angry tea-kettle next to him, and Gladio had to snap a hand down on the Retainer's shoulder before he went over and spanked some respect into the mouthy blond twerp.

“Get stuffed, Malfoy,” Noct spat, catching his friend by the arm and trying to steer him away with a quiet “C'mon, Ron....”

Malfoy didn't take being dismissed very well apparently, because he immediately changed targets, tips of his ears turning pink as he scowled, “Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren't you, Potter? So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?” he sneered.

Harry's face darkened, his expression going mean in a way Prompto had never seen before, “You know _your_ mother, Malfoy?” he demanded sharply, hands knotted into the back of his friend's uniform holding him back with the help of their female friend, “That expression she's got, like she's got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because _you_ were with her?” he demanded coldly.

Ignis made a pained noise, and Gladio snorted, “Cool your jets, Iggy. As far as insults go, that wasn't particularly insulting to the lady herself,” he pointed out soothingly.

“Don't you dare insult my mother, Potter,” Malfoy hissed, face blossoming with colour.

“Keep your fat mouth shut, then,” Harry grit before turning away, clearly not seeing the way Malfoy's hand plunged into his robes for his wand.

The three of them moved at the same time.

It was reflex, really, to launch their weapons and _Warp_.

Aim, release, _breathe_ , and push.

The sensation of breaking ice, of shattering through light, between one heartbeat and the next, sliding from place to place between the beats.

Prompto tackled Noct to the ground, arms around him, tucking his head into his shoulder and rolling his whole body – still untrained, but what the body doesn't know the mind can guide a thousand times until it remembers. It was clumsier than it perhaps would have otherwise been, but it served its purpose as he dragged Noct out of danger, hit the ground, tumbled, twisted, his fingers sparking on the Armiger as he summoned Death Penalty with one hand, the other around his buddy.

Gladio dropped like the Archaean himself between them, hands splayed against whatever spell it was that the blond worm threw at him, the magic splashing uselessly, harmlessly against the crystalline white shield, huge, glittering, and thicker than anything any other Glaive could summon. Appropriate then, for the King's Shield, to have the most powerful magical barrier of them all.

Ignis – he was not a Shield. He had not been trained time and time again to go to Noctis and put himself between his Prince and what might do him harm.

Ignis went for Malfoy, and he did it with his hands wreathed in lightning and fire, and Malfoy _screamed_.

“What?!”

Prompto looked down at the kid in his arms, witty quip about Damsels and Princesses and if this meant Noct owed him a life debt, and if so could he have a pet chocobo, only for unfamiliar grass green eyes to stare up at him instead of sapphire night-sky blue, and the bottom of his stomach dropped in sheer horror and no small degree of _pain_.

“You alright there, kid?” Gladio asked, expertly covering for Prompto's complete brain stall and dragging Potter's attention from the blond and onto him – still holding his thick crystalline shield, one handed, and looking over his shoulder at the pair.

“I – y-yes. Wait, did you just _Apparate in Hogwarts?_ ” he spluttered before looking past him to where Malfoy was _howling_ , Iggy's hand clamped tightly on his wrist, the other on his ear, his wand discarded on the floor as the Retainer shook him like an errant pup, scolding him furiously. Words akin to 'should be ashamed of yourself' and 'absolutely unacceptable behaviour' somehow audible over the general chaos of the Entrance Hall. He didn't look any worse for wear given Iggy's reflexive elemancy, but then again, the second he registered he was about to bitch-slap a fourteen year old with a Thundara wrapped around his wrist probably had him snuffing the spells before they did anything more than give him a nasty tingle.

Gladio gave him a quick eyeballing, glanced over to Ignis, and then dropped the shield. “Nah. Warping is just a Glaive trick.”

“Glaive trick?” Harry asked warily, giving Prompto a side look and trying to push him away.

The blond squeaked and immediately jerked backwards, both hands up – only he, of course, forgot that he had Death Penalty in one of them.

Green eyes went wide, and the brunette girl next to him squeaked, their eyes locked on the shining silver weapon.

He blanched and whipped it behind his back, immediately whisking it back into the Armiger.

“Yeah, Glaive trick,” Gladio interrupted, somewhat desperately trying to drag their attention back onto him as Prompto's breathing began to pick up in the beginnings of an anxiety attack, his stomach flipping over and clenching as a horrible cold shivery _crawling_ feeling worked its way across his skin. “Bet we could teach it to you if you wanted. You've got the right kind of magic for it,” he added, one last ditch attempt before Prompto broke.

The second the two looked away, he was _gone_.

Legs used to running across countries, from daemons, after chocobos, from MT soldiers, legs that carried him from Insomnia to Zegnautus to Altissia and back again.

He ran.

He ran across flagstones, across rolling grass, across patchy uneven dirt and stone, he ran over tree-roots, and briars, and eventually his legs finally told him no, enough, and he slowed, staring up at the alien boughs of trees sinister enough to find their home at the heart of Succarpe, at the thin wet fungus that – wasn't _fungus_.

That was spiderwebbing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Prompto. What have you wondered into this time?
> 
> For those curious, I actually planned out Prompto and everyone else's timetables in accordance with what we see in the books. For instance, whenever the fourth years have electives, the bros will have tutoring. So. Let me give you a break down of classes.
> 
> MONDAY:  
> Herbology (Gry/Puff) - History of Magic (Rave/Slyth)  
> Care of Magical Creatures (elective) - Tutoring  
> Divination (elective) - Tutoring
> 
> TUESDAY  
> Potions (Gryf/Slyth) - Transfiguration (Puff/Rave)  
> Divination (Elective) - Tutoring  
> Transfiguration (Gryf/Slyth) - Potions (Puff/Rave) - Astronomy (Slyth/Puff)
> 
> WEDNESDAY  
> Care of Magical Creatures (elective) - Tutoring - Free Period (Slyth/Puff - due to midnight classes prior)  
> Charms (Gryf/Rave) - Defence Against the Dark Arts (Slyth/Puff)  
> Transfiguration (Gryf/Slyth) - Potions (Puff/Rave) - Astronomy (Gryf/Rave)
> 
> THURSDAY  
> Free Period (Gryf/Rave - due to midnight classes prior) - tutoring  
> Potions (Gryf/Slyth) - Transfiguration (Puff/Rave)  
> Defence Against the Dark Arts (Gryf/Rave) - Charms (Slyth/Puff)
> 
> FRIDAY  
> Herbology (Gryf/Puff) - History of Magic (Slyth/Rave)  
> Charms (Gryf/Rave) - Defence Against the Dark Arts (Slyth/Puff)  
> Defence Against the Dark Arts (Gryf/Rave) - Charms (Slyth/Puff)
> 
> All classes are in two hour slots, breakfast followed by first period, then a half hour break, followed by another two hour double slot, then lunch, then another two hour lesson, then dinner and done for the day - or club activities for those so inclined.


End file.
